Leta had called on simple impulse. She'd heard the news about the Van Lunt benefit and she knew, deep down that something wasn't adding up. She knew Wesley. She worried about him. And she hated herself for it. To her relief, he answered quickly.
"Yes?"
"Wesley," her voice was frail, almost frightened.
On the other end of the phone, Wesley memorized the way her voice scraped against his ears and sent a chill down his spine.
"Leta," he spoke her name like a prayer, low and gentle, but a beat held back his next words. "Leta, is everything alright?"
He felt her nodding as she spoke again. "Yeah," she laughed shakily, "everything's fine, I'm fine. I just-I heard about the Van Lunt incident. It's all over the news. They're saying-"
"Everything's fine. It's being handled."
She rolled her eyes. He knew it. "Wesley..."
He sighed wearily, "Leta, I'm fine. Everything's being contained."
"It wasn't food poisoning like they're saying on the news, is it? I'll know if you're lying to me."
"You always do," he chuckled lightly, but his amusement didn't last, "No, it wasn't food poisoning. Someone is targeting-"
"Your employer,"
"Yes," he bit down on his lower lip as heat flushed to his cheeks. "Listen, Leta, I think it'd be best-safer-if you didn't call me again."
And the call ended.