New normal at office

The morning of her return to the D.A.’s office was met with a hush. Laurel walked through the glass doors wearing a sharp, charcoal-gray power suit, her heels clicking with rhythmic authority. She was halfway to her desk when a junior associate, a man known more for his lack of filter than his legal mind, stepped into her path.

"Lance! Good to have you back," he said, though his eyes were dancing with a mix of pity and prurient curiosity. He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough so the surrounding cubicles could hear. "Look, I gotta ask. The rumors... is it true? Someone actually ambushed you in the shower and you had to run naked across half of Star City at 2 AM?"

The office went silent. Laurel stopped, adjusted the strap of her briefcase, and turned to face him. She didn't flush. She didn't stammer. She simply looked at him with a cool, detached expression that made him look like a specimen under a microscope.

"It’s true that I was targeted by a criminal syndicate I was successfully prosecuting," Laurel said, her voice carrying clearly across the room. "It is also true that their attempt to humiliate me failed. I survived, I apprehended the suspects, and I did it without needing a three-piece suit to feel like a professional. Now, unless you have the Bertinelli deposition on my desk by noon, I’d suggest you focus on your own 'predicament.'"

She walked away, leaving the associate gaping.