Jane nearly chokes on her brandy when the afternoon news comes on and she sees her husband's face among the montage of suspected Voidtreckers. Well, kriff. Jon, really? Her Jon? He couldn't even hurt a fly.

... okay, he could, who was she kidding. He works in a training gym for a reason, and dabbles in some other sketchy trade on the side. Not that he knows that she knows. Or that that's precisely what she married him for.

Still, he's bound to get into some trouble with his face out in the open like that, so she starts to suit up while she finishes the rest of her drink. She's been drinking a lot more in the past day or two, since the flashes and the headaches started, but a part of her feels she's not even drinking enough, though she also can't put a finger to why she believes so.

"Watch the house," she says to their cat as she passes Neufie on the counter, giving her a scritch under the chin before tapping the pendant in the center of her collar. Then she heads to the garage, gets on the hover-motorcycle her husband doesn't know she owns, and speeds off to the educational and political district of the city, where the training centers are. She'll stalk him home if she has to, to make sure he comes back in one piece.

She tells herself she's only doing this for the job.