"I'm fine," the billionaire murmurs from the protective cradle of his fiancée's embrace, from which he can't be seen or heard easily. "Nygma...do the right thing."

It's an order, really. Then he exhales, letting go some of that iron will and tension and turns his face toward her hand, lightly kissing the palm before growing still again.

In the background are sirens, distant but distinct.