It was only six-thirty in the morning, and the public face of the nation was already having a terrible day.

No, the president was still asleep. Every news station in the country, regardless of time zone, was less than active. Not even the Internet was awake at this hour—at least not the percentage of it that covered up-to-the-minute news.

There was one person, and only one, who was so done with the world that she just wanted to crawl back into bed and let humanity fend for itself for a few hours.

Instead she was sitting in a drafty sandwich shop, nursing a cup of coffee and a killer headache, slouching in the booth and trying to enjoy every second of the solitude. A phone sat on the table just out of reach, vibrating every few seconds in a desperate attempt to draw the owner's attention.

The owner attempted, desperately, to ignore it.

Raising the mug, she took a long, slow sip. Both sleeves of the black hoodie swaddling most of her person were wrapped around the mug to keep from the heat.

The phone buzzed again.

"You gonna get that?"

The voice came from directly behind the slouching figure. A man in a construction-orange jacket sat in the next booth, only his back visible and taking up easily twice as much space as the phone's owner. His voice was deep and lazy, like he didn't care much one way or the other, but, you know, just thought he'd check and all.

The public face of the nation squeezed her eyes shut.

Buzz buzz.

She slammed the cup down with a huff, hitting the table on her way out of the booth and getting a nasty bruise to the thigh. After some awkward tugging, she finally jerked the hoodie over her head to reveal a shock of bright red hair.

A glass shattered a few booths over, slipping from astonished fingers, but the superhero paid no mind. Grabbing the phone from the table mid-buzz, she left the rumpled hoodie on the ground and stalked out of the diner.

"What do you want?" were the girl's first words as she stopped outside.

Her firetruck-red hair was free now, and without the XXL hoodie it was instantly obvious that she was clad in a flashy super suit. White leather and spandex was the overwhelming feature, shiny gold boots completing the outfit. She zipped up the white jacket awkwardly with one hand while holding the phone to her ear.

"What do I— Aether, love, if you read the messages before calling me you'd know. Why are you so old-school? Just answer your bloody texts for once." The voice on the other end was peppy, British, and clearly annoyed.

"I'm barely three years older than you, Charles." She turned to look down the street, tensing up for trouble. "Where's the emergency?"

"Breaking out the full names, are we? Could you maybe inform me next time you decide to drop off the map for forty minutes? I had to alert the secretary of defence, A-girl. The secretary. Of defence. You know how hard it is babysitting a superhero 24/7?"

"You're my agent, Charlie, not my mom." The super grinned. "Spare me the sob story, or I'll hang up and just read the messages."

"What were you doing for forty minutes, Sparks? We lost your tracker the instant you dropped to the building. Five fifty-six AM."

She glanced back at the diner, guilt welling in her stomach. It was selfish of her to disappear, even for so short a time. Charlie deserved better—the people deserved better.

"I know—I'm sorry, I needed a minute. It's just that... I'm your talker, you know? And talking, well—it didn't work this time."

"Jeez, girl, I thought Lucid got you." Charlie's frustrated tone mellowed for a moment.

She flinched at the name. "About that. Lucid... got away. Probably. I didn't get there in time—"

"You think I don't know that?" The voice came loud over the phone again. "The cops have been in my office for half an hour. There's a dead journalist—no big loss, if you ask me—and zero sign of the supervillain she promised us. As far as we know, Lucid was never even there."

"So... the eight-year-dead villain she was going on about is probably still dead, then?"

"Like I'd know!" Charlie sounded like he was throwing his hands in the air. "I know you usually see me as the omnipotent type, but I don't actually know everything."

"Omniscient."

"Yeah, that. In any case the journalist had a history of psychosis so I wouldn't trust a thing she says. Now would you get your spandex-clad arse over here? I need you to talk to people."

There was a pause. The super looked up at the sky, one hand on her hip. A silver-white flash reflected off the descending helicopter. "So there's no actual crisis."

"I'm in crisis!" Charlie protested. "Get these reporters off my back, Ginger. It's in your job description as public face of superheroism, plus it would be nice for me personally."

"Okay, stop with the nicknames, I'm coming."

Charlie didn't miss a beat. "Carrot Top? Chameleon? What do you want me to call you, then? It's not like you have a secret identity. How about Jane Doe?"

"You can call me Aether, like the rest of the country does, maybe?"

He chuckled. "Where's the fun in that? Also please hurry. The crisis has gotten worse—my latte's getting cold."

***

"Picture this," Charlie began the instant Aether jumped down from the helicopter. The agent's usually slick dark hair was defying both gravity and hair gel to fall over one eye, but his Filipino features were animated as ever as he gestured to set the scene.

"An empty office, the door sitting open, a crowd of journalists just outside. In the office, sitting cold and forgotten, a perfect spicy chai latte." Charlie put a hand over his heart. "Slowly, the foam melts, the cinnamon settling to the bottom, and where am I? Where am I, you ask?"

"In the crowd of journalists?" Aether played along, tilting her head in query. She stepped into the elevator first, waiting for him to hit the button.

"Ten feet away. Ten feet of journalists between me and my latte. Sometimes I wish I was Flickr, so I could just go invisible for a few seconds. Maybe I could get some real work done. Not to mention save a latte or two."

"How's Flickr? I didn't see her yesterday."

Charlie made a face. "The country's fourth favourite super, as of this morning. I'm thinking of scheduling her a team-up with you later. Maybe give her ratings a boost. 'Course, it's what she gets for picking the name of a 2000s-era photo app."

"Fourth?" Aether ignored the rest of her agent's spiel, squinting at him in surprise. "She usually hangs out between second and third—what happened?"

"Ah, you haven't met him yet. You're at number one, of course, then Storm, then Kylie's new guy. She sponsored him fresh out of the academy, so his records must be outstanding."

"Is Flickr taking it hard?"

"She's a champ," Charlie said. "I know how to pick winners, and both of you will be in the top three again in no time. Anyway, she's dropping in around nine, we don't need her straight away."

He swept her through the reception office, pausing by the next set of doors to pass the super a wireless earpiece. "I'm prompting you through this. All you have to do is get in there, smile, and answer their questions as vaguely as possible. Say something nice about the president once they're warmed up."

"Should I mention Flickr?" Aether fiddled with the earpiece.

"If you can. Maybe the cat story from last week? But don't ham it up, they're probably more interested in last night." Charlie was already turning away, glancing at his phone.

The redhead pasted on her customer-service smile. "Cheers!"

"Stuff it," her agent said.