Her aunt had been right in the end. After composing herself on the elevator ride back to the floor she was supposed to be working on, Raina found herself as the resident coffee girl. It was expected, but… still, she wanted to do more than bring already-overly-hyper reporters more caffeine.

At least CatCo had someone sensible in charge of fire safety. The cork-board was clearly managed by someone with a degree in graphic design — it was so colour-coded that it would've passed muster in a modern art exhibit. By the time Raina staggered past it on her way to the break room for lunch, she felt like she should've received an honorary art degree for simply being in its presence.

The glass-walled break room was startlingly quiet after the chatter-roar of busy-bee workers in the main office. Raina checked her hair in her reflection before grabbing her bagged lunch. Her stomach was churning so badly she didn't know if she could keep another sickly-sweet cinnamon bun down, but she had to try. She'd need all the energy she could get to ferry the next round of coffees to their addictees.

Half of her expected that the morning would be worse — after all, everyone had just woken up. The other half of her was pretty sure that the afternoon would be harder — everyone would be crashing hard. All of Raina was begging her to pick up a coffee habit of her own.

Raina sighed and transferred her cinnamon bun to her mouth for safekeeping as she looked for somewhere to plop her tired butt. However awful the signal was in downtown Metropolis, CatCo had rocking wifi. Raina nestled into a break chair, a cushy velvet-upholstered armchair the same colour of teal as a swimming pool, her phone settled across her knees. The rest of the workers seemed underwater from her perch, like the glass between Raina and them was a fishbowl.

You doing okay, big cousin?

The message went through, and Raina retrieved the cinnamon bun, took a real bite. This time, she could taste it — the oodles of butter, the cinnamon-sugar crumbling between the soft pastry layers. Aunt Juliette could be flaky — ha — about her relationships, but the woman could make a mean cinnamon bun.

Raina contemplated her phone for anther minute before messaging her cousin again.

Sorry. I tried to text and warn you, but I didn't have any service.

Satisfied with her messages, she dug in. It wasn't till halfway through Raina's lunch that her phone lit up with a reply.

It's fine.

No, it wasn't. Raina knew that better than most.

You're ridiculous. Of course it's not okay.

{Winn is typing}

Raina waited, but eventually the status message disappeared. A couple seconds later, a disappointingly short message popped up.

Gtg. Police have questions

Police?

He's my dad, Raina.

You haven't talked to him since he went to jail!

You think they care? Just be glad you're not in the middle of this. CatCo is swarming.

About that...

What did you do now?

Sorry, I really have to go

Talk to you later

Raina downed the last of her bun, licked the sugar off her fingers. A quick look at the fancy silver clock told her she had another seven minutes on break.

What was Winn getting involved in now? He'd been cagey the last few months, and with Aunt Juliette's whole 'we do not speak of thee' thing, Raina hadn't had a chance to ambush him in person. Winn was hiding something, something big, and it wasn't related to the whole Toyman issue. Something had happened to him a couple months ago, and since Raina was the original nosy parker, she needed to know what was going on.

Raina spent the last minutes of her break composing no less than three messages to Winn. The final products weren't perfect, but it was time to get back on coffee duty. It'd have to do. Raina chucked her paper bag, picked her hair back into place, and sent the texts.

I know you're not telling me everything, Winn. That's okay — I know that you're saving it for the big reveal in person. Thanks. You know how much I love dramatics. It better be good, though, 'cause I got a couple great things to tell you about. You wouldn't want to be in my debt, would you? I just might dare you to do something about that horrendous crush of yours.

Oh, and I'm sure I'll be able to convince Aunt Juliette to have you over for dinner some time this decade. Be prepared — she improved her cinnamon bun recipe. If you don't die of sugar shock after the first bite, you'll adore them.

Good luck, with whatever you're doing. I'm sending you all the good vibes I can spare.