She's texting as he settles himself with a coke. Better soda than a beer, particularly as they haven't had the results of the breathalyzer test yet. Only once that's done does she sit herself on the leftside couch, opposite York.

His colour's returning. That's good. It eases some of her own worries, unhappy as she is to have missed the containers that must have held the replacement smoke. But he's alive, and safe here, and the perp is in custody. Delta is handling the particulars there.

"For the past few months, there's been an increase in threatening fan mail addressed to you." No preamble. Right to the point. "Threatening words. Escalating in content letter by letter. The record company seemed to think it par for the course in this business. Made sure to approve an increase for security, but nothing more." Her lips pursed. "Delta did not."