Summary:

Wiebe is looking at Rozanov. The man is currently sitting on the couch in his office hugging the centaur plushie his daughters gave him when he started coaching here. He’s got a distant expression on his face. Troy says he took something for a cold he was fighting, and then saw him take a painkiller a bit later and now he’s - well - high. And now, for the first time since he started working here, he’s looking up one of his player’s emergency contacts. Except Rozanov’s emergency contact comes with a note; text, unless absolute emergency. Discretion please.