In the somewhat dim corridor, Schiller looked at Brand. Brand's expression remained unchanged, as though he were still waiting for Schiller to finish what he had been saying.
Then Schiller withdrew his gaze and asked nothing, because there was no point. Anyone could be one, and anyone could also not be one. They might not even know they were one; perhaps they had not been one a second ago, but were one the next. Therefore, trying to determine exactly who was one was meaningless.
Besides, compared to a threat whose existence had yet to be confirmed, Schiller had far more important matters to handle.
Edward Nygma's condition had caught his attention. It was clear that he was nearly recovered, but the trauma he had suffered from something in the past still lurked deep within him. What kind of butterfly this larva, soon to break free of its cocoon, would become—no one knew.
Schiller did not want Riddler to become a criminal. If there was anyone among Gotham's many criminals he sympathized with most, it might be this genuine mental patient. Having once been a psychiatrist himself, he understood how much people with real mental illnesses suffered.
Unlike antisocial individuals, their various abnormal behaviors were not because they wanted to be so different from everyone else. They simply could not control themselves. The most desperate thing in the world was to be trapped in a prison of hallucinations, gradually losing the ability to distinguish the world—or oneself.
Schiller had just drawn out Edward's secret, but that was only the first step. The way they resolved that secret might determine what path Edward would ultimately take.
The troublesome part was that Edward was mentally ill. He did not possess full capacity for action. Even if they handed him the chance for revenge,