To anyone else in the room, it would have sounded like a cat being dramatic. To Jude, it was something significantly more humiliating — a palico who had apparently decided that this morning called for maximum pathos.
His expression darkened by several degrees.
"All you ever think about is food." He reached over, pulled Yomogi off the windowsill by the scruff, and deposited her outside with one smooth motion. "Don't worry. First floor."
He turned back to Shawna, who was staring at the window looking like she lost her mind hearing a cat talking.
"It's not a real cat, a robot I made. Her vocal range is unfortunately broad," he said. "What you just heard was the 'pitiable stray' setting. You haven't seen the round-headed version yet. That one's worse."
On cue, Yomogi reappeared — apparently having taken the scenic route back via the fire escape — and peered at him from behind the corner of the table with enormous, accusatory eyes.
"Boss. Boss. I'm hungry. Meow."
Jude's jaw tightened. She was usually more direct about demanding things. The politeness, somehow, made it worse. He handed her a nikuman without looking at her, then turned back to Shawna and pretended the last thirty seconds hadn't happened.
"Even if you have a boyfriend, bars are still risky. You were lucky last night. Someone else finds you in that state — takes your bag, leaves you on the curb — who do you even call?"
Shawna chewed slowly. She wanted to argue. The place was familiar. It was generally fine. The probability of something actually happening was—
Once it happens, the probability is one hundred percent.
She buried the thought and didn't bring it up again.
By the time she surfaced, she was full.
"This is incredible," she said, and meant it. "Could you teach me? I want to cook for Clay someday."
"Clay — your boyfriend?"
He said it neutrally. He had already catalogued the full picture: the bar habits, the casual theft, the boyfriend who was, by any reasonable metric, not worth the loyalty being spent on him. But Shawna's feelings on the subject were clearly not up for outside review, so he left it where it was.
"Speaking of your boyfriend," he said instead, "there might be a way to get his sentence reduced. Possibly cleared entirely."
Shawna's head came up fast.
"Reduced — or you said cleared?"
"There's a real, legal path to early release. Not anything else — I need you to understand that distinction before we go further. Legal release and a prison break are two completely different things."
She was already leaning forward. "How?"
"First — why are you helping me?"
"Simple." Jude settled back in his chair. "I understand how this world works. You need allies. Look at Clyde and where did it get him? Strength alone is a ceiling. Without connections, without people who have your back, you're a solo operator until you're not anymore."
"But why me specifically?"
"Making an ally." He said it like it was obvious. "You want to know why we were at that bar last night? We had a lead — a theft report where almost everyone in the place had been searched and the thief was never identified. No witnesses, nothing useful on the floor." He paused. "But there was security footage. And on it, we found you teleporting."
The color in Shawna's face shifted.
"I'm not here to corner you," Jude said before she could react. "I made sure you were safe last night, and what I'm saying right now is the same thing I would've said sober: I want an ally, not a collar."
"You want something from me." Her voice cooled. "So you played the gentleman."
"If that's what you think—" He gestured toward the door without any drama. "It's right there. Walk out, we start processing the theft case. Not because you said no — that's just our job either way. The record exists whether you cooperate or not."
He let that settle for a moment.
"But here's the other side: cooperation counts. It reduces sentences. Petty theft with a cooperation credit looks very different from petty theft on its own. And your boyfriend—" He paused. "He stays in Iron Heights either way, or you help us and we look at his case. That's the deal. I'd rather you know exactly what it costs than find out afterward."
Shawna turned the remaining piece of nikuman over in her hands, quiet.
"You're the strangest people I've ever tried to figure out," she said finally. "You seem principled and completely shameless at the same time. Who are you people?"
"We work metahuman cases in Central City. Cooperative arrangement with the police department."
She translated that immediately. "Cops' helpers."
Jude didn't deny it.
"So even if I help, I still get convicted for the theft."
"The theft gets addressed — what that looks like depends on what you do between now and then. I don't make promises I can't keep." He looked at her steadily. "Think about what you actually want. Right now you're picking pockets in a bar and hoping your boyfriend makes it out before you get caught yourself. What does the other version look like? You stay in the city you grew up in. He gets out clean. You both stop running." He let it sit. "Church wedding, if that's what you want. Open. Above board."
Shawna stared at the table.
"Can you actually guarantee he gets out?"
"One of the officers has confirmed it's feasible. If we do this right — yes."
Another long silence. Then she picked up the last nikuman.
"I'm only doing this because the breakfast was good."
Jude smiled. "I'll take it."
After Shawna confirmed she was in, Jude messaged the lab, got clearance from Wells and Barry, and brought her over without ceremony.
"So," Dr. Wells said, turning from his workstation. "Ms. Baez is willing to cooperate with us?"
"You need to put your offer on the table first," Shawna said flatly. "I'm not doing anything until I know it's not just talk."
"Fair enough." Jude leaned against the wall. "Inmates at Iron Heights can qualify for significant sentence reduction — or outright release — through documented major contributions. Patents, inventions, that kind of thing." A beat. "I have a patent application in progress. Jet-glider related. I wouldn't mind putting Clay's name on it."