She'd really wanted to go, back when it had all gone wrong. Run back to the place brightly lit by childhood nostalgia, where no one knew her name or her face. But she'd been too depressed to move, and by the time she'd fought her way out of the pit she'd found things in Gotham to be attached to again.

"It's a nice city, I think." As they approach the cluster of trees huddled at the edge of the park Genevieve begins to talk about her hometown. The ivy-covered university buildings where her father worked, the river Cam winding under bridges and strewn with tourists trying desperately not to fall out of their punts, the cobblestones of the streets and sidewalks.