The rain in Star City had not stopped.
The incandescent light in the hallway flickered twice, buzzing with electrical static.
Joe West sat on a bench, staring fixedly at the thin sheet of paper in his hands.
He had crumpled its edges in his grip. Sweat mingled with rainwater, almost blurring out the official stamp in the lower-right corner.
Joe felt cold.
It was not the chill of his soaked trench coat, but the cold that came from overwhelming fear.
Fifteen years.
Henry had spent fifteen years in Iron Heights Penitentiary.
That murderer, that monster, had not only brazenly taken over Central City's most advanced laboratory, but sat in a wheelchair every day, smiling at Nora's son and teaching him how to run faster.
"Joe."
Sheriff Lance stubbed out his cigarette, walked over, and patted his shoulder.
Lance looked grim too, and kept his voice low.
"This is too big. We can't go in guns blazing. I'll contact the FBI or the Department of Homeland Security right away. Send a tactical team to Central City and take him..."
"Absolutely not." Joe jerked his head up.
"Why?" Lance froze.
"Lance, you have no idea what we're dealing with." Joe tugged at the corners of his mouth, his smile uglier than a grimace.
The images of that night at the chemical plant exploded in his mind again.
More than a dozen fully armed SWAT officers had been swept off their feet by a gust of wind before they could even raise their guns.
That streak of red lightning had darted between the armored vehicles, as though mocking the firepower humanity was so proud of.
"However many people you send, he'll kill them all." Joe stood up, shoved the report into his inner pocket, and zipped up his trench coat.
"Against something like