Lois can still hear the noise of the gala as she quickly closes the bathroom door behind her. She lets out a heavy sigh as she locks herself in, clenching her jaw as she considers the mess she’s found herself in. Being an investigative journalist, she isn’t averse to danger, but she can’t help but feel like she’s bitten off more than she can chew this time.

She knew you and your family, what they were said to be involved in, so when she was lucky enough — if lucky is the right word to use here — to run into you on the street, she took the chance. Lois got to know you, got you to trust her, got close to you. And now she’s here, at a party with people who most likely want her dead.

She stares at herself in the mirror, more determined than ever to get this done. She’s a reporter, and it has nothing to do with the butterflies she feels in her stomach whenever she sees you smile. Lois is a professional, and she’s not going to let a little bit of organized crime scare her away from this story.

Lois gets dragged out of her thoughts by a knock on the door, the sound making her breath catch in her throat. "I’ll be out in a minute, dear," she calls out, hoping it was you, "I'm just touching up my makeup."