[It helps, Hank says, and maybe he believes that it does. Connor knows that he relies on it, that it makes reality (both versions of it -- here and in Detroit) easier to contend with, dulling the edges of broken pieces.

But Connor, based on the knowledge he possesses of humans and why they act the way they do, knows it doesn't really help. That this is temporary, and he's just seeing a small segment of the circle that forms a perpetually revolving cycle. Over and over and over. The proof's in the Lieutenant's past, in his file, from a decorated officer to a man who can't be bothered to show up to his job on time.]

...Maybe. But I can't agree with some of that; crucially, I can't agree that this helps you at all. Not in the long run.

[He looks at the nearly-empty bottle next to him, reflecting the faint glow of his jacket back at him.]

I just want a name. I only want to talk to whoever's making this, nothing more.