Riza trembled, her grip a tight white around the slip of paper, as if it could flutter away from her grasp. The phone beside her seemed a larger force, looming over her barely present form. Black numbers scrawled on the paper danced before her, taunting her like a bully, but urging her with the patience of a mother.
A month before, Roy Mustang had stopped by unexpectedly. That same day, her father had died. He had stayed for the greater part of the month to arrange the funeral, which no one came to. But that was alright with her. It was just Mr. Mustang (though he assured her they were both old enough to call each other by their first names) and herself. In front of her father's gravestone, she briefly shared their dreams, but his shy confession moved her. Somehow, his selfless idealism what the final straw, the straw that broke the camel's back. She would help him.
She reached for the phone and dialed his number.