[Another weird game from Aurora with all this Valentine’s shit, Hank assumes. On the way out of the apartment building, he sees the mailboxes stuffed with brightly covered cards — do they really need mailboxes? — and then he hears that voice. Staticky and yet familiar.
And that name.]
Connor?
[That’s not... no. This is a nightmare. Connor is gone, taken from him by Echo-whoever. And Aurora is easier to blame for all that, but she wouldn’t do something like this, would she? Wouldn’t show him Connor, but... hurt.
Hank knows he’s not drunk because he could never cook up a vision like this, and because the pain at seeing Connor all roughed up is acute. Squeezing his stomach. Nightmares hurt, but nothing like this.]
Who the fuck...?
[“Who hurt you?” he means to ask, but the words are thick in his throat.]
Valentine’s 💔
[Another weird game from Aurora with all this Valentine’s shit, Hank assumes. On the way out of the apartment building, he sees the mailboxes stuffed with brightly covered cards — do they really need mailboxes? — and then he hears that voice. Staticky and yet familiar.
And that name.]
Connor?
[That’s not... no. This is a nightmare. Connor is gone, taken from him by Echo-whoever. And Aurora is easier to blame for all that, but she wouldn’t do something like this, would she? Wouldn’t show him Connor, but... hurt.
Hank knows he’s not drunk because he could never cook up a vision like this, and because the pain at seeing Connor all roughed up is acute. Squeezing his stomach. Nightmares hurt, but nothing like this.]
Who the fuck...?
[“Who hurt you?” he means to ask, but the words are thick in his throat.]