Happy Saturday! I hope that you're all doing well :)

To everyone who doesn't feel like they're enough or they're wrong in some way, this one's for you.

As always, thank you so much for the comments, kudos, and follows :)

ALSO: Shoutout to silver-doe287 for beta'ing this chapter! Always much appreciated

Tifa couldn't believe that she was finally home. When she switched on the lights and her small lamp lit up her small, familiar room, she nearly cried. Home. She had only been gone a day – less than that, in fact – and yet she was surprised when her desk wasn't covered in dust, when cobwebs weren't draped in every corner, and when the food in the fridge hadn't gone bad. Then, as she started prepping to take a shower, she was surprised that the bathroom fan still worked and the water heater still ran hot. But it was a pleasant surprise; after the day she had, all she wanted was to clean all the grime off of her and go to bed. Tomorrow would be a new day. A restful day.

I'll take the day off from the bar, she decided as she shampooed her hair. I'll make pancakes for breakfast, cook something nice for dinner, and spend the rest of the day being lazy. That'll be good for Cloud, too. He needs to rest.

He also needed to keep his head down until Shinra's bounty was called off, but Tifa tried not to think about that. Instead, she turned off the shower and, stepping out of the pillowing steam, wrapped a towel around her body and another around her hair. She wiped the condensation off the mirror with a swipe of her arm, and her reflection stared back at her from the cleared space. Tired circles lined her eyes and her skin looked pallid from exhaustion. Her gaze was bleary as she stared at herself, and yet at the same time, she looked happy. There was a shine to her eyes that she hadn't seen in years; a quirk to her lips that she hadn't noticed since childhood.

I'll be okay, she decided, and then glanced to the door. And Cloud will be, too.

With that thought in mind, she quickly changed and vacated the small restroom, taking care to turn off the light behind her. Cloud was sitting in the same corner he had chosen the night Tifa had found him. His knees were tucked into his chest, his chin rested on his arms, and his hair – still damp from his own shower – was a wild tangle he hadn't bothered to tame. He blinked at her, his gaze both bleary and alert. She smiled at him and, after a moment's hesitation, he returned her expression.

"So." She moved towards the desk and began to gently unwind her hair. "What are you doing on the floor? You weren't planning on sleeping there, were you?"

Cloud looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well… there's only one bed," he murmured, and he pointedly did not look at the bed as he said this. "And there's no couch, so..."

"Cloud… I can't let you sleep on the floor. You saved me today." Tifa reached for a hair tie to distract herself from her rising blush. "If it wasn't for you, I'd still be in Corneo's manor with nothing to show for it. But you came for me," she said. "Nobody asked you to, but you came for me anyway." She then turned towards him, her hands pulling back her hair, her smile soft and uncertain. "I don't think I've thanked you for that yet."

Cloud blinked at her for a moment, clearly taken aback, before quickly turning away. His brow was furrowed; a blush stained his cheeks. "It… It was nothing," he managed. "Don't mention it."

"If you say so," Tifa replied, even if she believed otherwise. Today's events were a great many things – disturbing, chaotic, gross, terrifying – but certainly not nothing. But she held her tongue and, tying her hair back into a tight bun, she said instead, "But regardless, it would be rude of me to make you sleep on the floor. Especially after everything that you did for me."

Cloud frowned in confusion. "But there's no couch..."

"I know."

"And… no air mattress?" he asked, sounding unsure.

"No."

Cloud's frown deepened. "Then where…?"

His voice trailed off into silence as Tifa turned towards him, her face warm and hoping that he couldn't tell. She gestured vaguely towards the bed. "Well… we could share," she offered.

Cloud's eyes flew wide.

"But only if you're okay with that, of course." She tried to sound nonchalant about it, like the entire thing was no big deal, but her heart was pounding and her palms were clammy. Anxiety throbbed in her chest. She glanced at Cloud to see what he was thinking, but he only looked startled – startled and alarmed, like he had been backed into a corner, and she was beginning to question every decision that led her here. "Or you can take the bed," she continued, biting her lip, "and I can take the floor?"

"What? Oh, no, no, it's okay." Cloud quickly rose to his feet; he used one hand to brace himself against the wall and the other to rub the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that Tifa recognized from their childhood. "I'm okay with it," he promised. "We can… We can share."

Tifa nodded, no longer trusting her voice. Her nerves hummed as she climbed onto the bed, her movements awkward as she overthought every action, overthought like she had never gotten into a bed before, before she pressed her back tight against the wall so she didn't take even an inch more than necessary. Her face burned as she rested her head on the pillow. Butterflies warred in her stomach. Her fingertips tingled, and she clutched some of the covers against her to hide it.

Cloud took a step forward, then paused. "Do you want the lights off?" he hesitantly asked.

Tifa lifted her head and whispered, "Yes, please."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and then made his way over to the door to turn off the lights. There was a flick, and the room was basked in darkness. Tifa's eyes took a moment to adjust, but she knew that Cloud – having SOLDIER enhancements – had perfect vision even in the dark.

Sure enough, she soon heard his footsteps pad against the floor. She felt the bed dip as he slowly climbed in. The mattress groaned beneath his weight as he, with painstaking gentleness, laid himself out in the empty space beside her. The covers went taunt. The crickets chirped outside. Tifa closed her eyes and tried not to think about how close he was – that if she wanted to, she could reach out her hand and brush his hair out of his eyes, could run her fingers across his cheek and whisper all the things that she wasn't brave enough to say during the day.

After a lengthy pause, Cloud asked, "Is this okay?"

Tifa, knowing that he could see her perfectly well, smiled and replied, "Yes."

For a long while after, no one spoke. The only sounds were a generator humming outside the window; the shower head dripping into its plastic basin; their breathing echoing each other in soft, muted harmony. Neon lights peeked in from holes in the blinds, and dust danced within the multicolor rays. A moth fluttered against the glass.

"I need to tell you something," Cloud finally whispered. His voice was rough with exhaustion, yet there was something buried within his tone – something numb and heavy – that had her going still.

"Like what?" she asked, her tone equally low as she strained to see him in the darkness.

"I..." he began, but his voice trailed off. His Adam's apple bobbed. His lips parted, but no sound came out and frustration flickered across his expression.

"It's okay," Tifa murmured. Once again, she was reminded at just how close they were – that if she wanted to, she could touch him. "Take your time – there's no rush."

Cloud dipped his head, and the outdoor generator hummed in the silent space between them. Then: "I… I was never in SOLDIER," he quietly admitted. His voice was full of shame, of heartache, and he wouldn't meet her eyes; instead, his sea-glass gaze rested on his hand, which was lying limp between them. Silvery scars spiderwebbed his knuckles. One finger was crooked from when it had broken but wasn't properly set. He curled it into a fist as he brokenly continued, "My eye color, my reflexes… it's not from being in SOLDIER. It's – It's from mako poisoning. A bad case. It should have killed me," he added. "I should be dead."

Cloud whispered all of this in a rush, with the words bumping and stumbling into one another, as if he was in a great hurry, as if he was afraid that if he stopped talking he'd never be able to speak of it again. But Tifa got it.

Some things weren't meant to be said twice.

"Oh, Cloud..."

"I don't remember too much," he continued with a helpless shrug. "Zack told me that I was in a coma for a long time – a year, maybe more. But that's why my eyes are like this. Why I'm like this. I… I never got into SOLDIER." Pain flickered across his expression. His eyes flicked towards her, gauging her reaction, before dropping back down. How tired he looked right then, how brittle, like the lightest touch could shatter him. "I… I just thought you should know."

Tifa's heart ached. "Cloud..."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth earlier."

"Cloud..."

"I didn't mean to lie," he added, voice breaking. "I just -"

But he abruptly cut off because, in that moment, Tifa reached for his hand and entwined her fingers with his. "Cloud," she murmured. "Look at me."

A shudder coursed through him as he lifted his eyes towards hers. Uncertainty warred in his expression; shame stained his cheeks and dampened his lashes. And yet, beneath it all, there was a spark of hope that maybe – just maybe – he could still be saved.

Tifa suddenly felt like crying.

"I already know," she whispered. Her thumb brushed across his knuckles, across every bump and scar. "Zack mentioned a little to me, back in the sewer system's break room. And Cloud," she said, "I don't care. I don't care that you never made SOLDIER. I don't care that your name was never in a newspaper, or that you never became famous, or any of that stuff. What I care about is that you're alive, and that you're okay. That's enough." She smiled at him, and liquid heat trailed down her cheek and into the pillow. "That's more than enough."

He shook his head. "Enough?" he echoed. "But I'm… I'm just…"

AndTifa, already knowing what he was going to say, interrupted, "It's because you're you." She squeezed his hand; he didn't squeeze back, but she didn't mind. "Despite everything, you survived. You came back. And Cloud… you don't have to fix everything. You don't have to solve everything. You don't have to justify yourself or prove yourself to anyone, because you're enough. You're enough," she repeated, as gently as a lullaby, "just as you are."

Even before Tifa had finished, Cloud's eyes had gone misty; but now he could only watch her as her voice faded into the dark, his hands trembling and breathing uneven, with every exhale getting caught in his throat and each inhale rattling his chest.

After a lengthy pause, he managed to choke out, "There's more."

"Tell me everything," Tifa asked him.

So he did. He told her everything that Zack had told him: the experimentation, the years he had forgotten, the things he had been unable to forget. And as he talked, Tifa simply listened with her hands around his and her lips pressed tightly together. Heartache throbbed within her as persistently as bleeding from an open wound; grief sang through her veins in a silent orchestra. Of course Zack hated Hojo; of course he had been terrified of the bounty letter. How could he not be?

"And I… I don't know what Hojo did to me," Cloud continued. Each word sounded raw and ragged, as if it had been dragged out of him with hooks. "And I've been thinking, he might have… might have done something to me. Made me something… other. Something wrong. But I don't know," he finished with a small shake of his head, "I don't know."

His voice trailed off, and Tifa suddenly had the profound sense that she needed to choose her words carefully, that she needed to say… what, exactly? That he was kinder and stronger and braver than he gave himself credit for? That when she had first arrived in Midgar, it had been with survival in her veins, hate in her bones, and the desire to destroy Shinra coddled deep in her heart; and yet since he had arrived, she had found all of that fading away and that this – whatever this was – was enough now. No destruction, no hate, no revenge; just her and him, beautifully doomed with tragedy in their blood, with a lifetime to figure out how to breathe again.

"We'll figure it out, together," she promised him. "We'll figure it out one day at a time. It'll be fine; you'll be okay." Her thumb brushed over his knuckles; she pressed his fingers against her lips. "No matter what happens… I'm not going anywhere."

And light, such beautiful light filled his sea glass squeezed her hand carefully, as if she were something fragile, and a tear slipped down his cheek. But he didn't seem to notice; instead he whispered in a hollow, broken sort of way, "Thank you, Tifa."

Tifa smiled while heat traced down her cheeks. "Of course, Cloud," she murmured in reply. "Of course."

Beside Tifa's apartment was an empty room. It looked exactly like the one next to it, with the exception that this one was nearly unfurnished: all it had was a creaky bed with mismatched sheets, a collection of bare wire hangers dangling in the closet, and a small trunk that currently doubled as a table. A desk lamp rested in the corner. The carpet was thin and threadbare. A dark stain splattered the wall.

But at least it has plumbing, Zack thought as he stepped out of his lukewarm shower. A towel – one that smelled vaguely of grease and french fries – was draped across his neck. His hair dripped down his arms as he wiped the condensation off of the fogged mirror. His reflection stared at him and he stared back, his hands resting on the sink's ceramic rim, his knuckles scarred and bloodless.

He didn't recognize his own face.

Or rather, he did, but it was… off somehow, like he was staring at a distant relative instead of himself. It took him a moment to figure out why: the lines around his eyes ran deeper, the set of his mouth was harder, and his cheekbones were more pronounced while his cheeks were more hollow. Altogether, it gave him a deranged sort of look. Like he was one smile away from setting a bus on fire.

Though right now, he wanted to do far more than set fire to a bus.

He wanted to burn down the world.

He dipped his head with eyes squeezed shut, and hated. When he had joined Shinra, all he had ever wanted to do was help people. He'd wanted to make the world a little better for everyone in it, and to that end, he'd done everything Shinra had asked: led missions, went to war, submitted to whatever test they wanted, killed every monster they ordered. But none of it had mattered, had it? The world had become worse, and it made him realize something: the monsters weren't out in the wastes. They were far closer than that. They were here.

… Shinra.

Zack's sea-glass eyes burned hot enough to stain his eyelashes a pretty shade of green. His lips pressed tight together; the sink groaned beneath his grasp. He had the sudden desire to break something. He wanted to grab the nearby cup and send it straight to space. But he forced his grip to relax, forced his lungs to slowly exhale, forced his feet to take a step back. He took a breath and put on a pair of oversized sweatpants. With another breath, and he combed his hair back and brushed his teeth. When he was ready – when destruction did not vibrate in his fingertips and he no longer smelled blood – did he move towards the door. But he didn't turn the knob – not yet. He didn't want Aerith to see him like this, this… hating mass of adrenaline and nerves and violence. She needed better. Hell, he needed better.

So he closed his eyes.

As a SOLDIER, he had been trained to compartmentalize everything. Every problem was to be folded into a neat little box and set aside for later, so he – after a deep breath – began wrestling every recent anxiety into a dusty corner of his mind: Tseng wanting him to assassinate President Shinra, Cissnei's pending retirement from the Turks, the bounty letter, Hojo, Cloud's mako poisoning, and last but not least, Aerith's mother wanting him dead for keeping her daughter past curfew. It was an extensive record. It almost made him want to start a checklist, just to keep track of it all.

Maybe I should start writing this stuff down, he thought with a sigh, and then opened the door… only to promptly freeze.

Because there.

Sitting on the bed.

Was Aerith wrapped up in nothing but a towel.

She stared at him with her lips parted and a blush high on her cheeks, and he stared back with much the same expression. "Oh, um…" Her throat bobbed. "You… uh, take quick showers."

"It's from SOLDIER training," Zack replied on reflex, but he hardly heard his own voice. Some small part of him registered that her lack of attire – coupled with Tifa's spare clothes scattered on the bed – meant that she had been changing, but the much larger part of him only registered her towel. His flush deepened and all his previous thoughts evaporated like water.

Aerith continued to stare at him, her lips moving but with no sound. Eventually, she managed a brief, self-conscious, "Um..."

It was then that Zack caught himself. He whirled, towel flapping about his neck, and stared wild-eyed through the restroom's open door. Condensation pillowed the ground but he did not notice it. "Uh, sorry. I'll can, er, just leave or something -"

"No, you're good! You're good, I promise. I'm – I'm almost done. Just wanted to dry my hair a little," Aerith said with a shy laugh. "It takes time because it's so long, and I, um, I thought you'd take longer. My mistake."

"Uh-huh." Zack's hearing was much more sensitive than the average person's, a trait that he usually enjoyed very much because it allowed him to listen in on private conversations. But now, however, he thought otherwise. Between Aerith's quickened breathing, the soft sounds of her unwrapping her towel, and the brush of her shirt's fabric against her skin… He uncomfortably shifted his weight and tried to say, as nonchalantly as possible, "Nah, maybe I should have taken longer. I mean, we did walk around the sewers. Want me to, uh, leave again?"

He heard Aerith's breath catch, which simultaneously delighted and destroyed him. "No!" she replied hastily. "No, I'm almost done, I swear. Just… Just give me a second." He heard a waistband stretching, her legs slipping into a pair of soft shorts, and a final little sigh. Then, after a pause, she said, "O – Okay. You can turn around now."

Zack could do many things but that was a particularly arduous task, one that he had to mentally prepare himself for before he could fully commit. He thought about all the little old men that sunbathed nude at Costa del Sol. He thought about how Chocobos regurgitated their food for their young to eat. He thought about that one time Kunsel found a six month old sandwich in his locker, and the complex, sickly-green ecosystem that had been growing on top of it. Once fully prepared, he slowly exhaled, carefully turned around, and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Aerith sat in the middle of the bed, her legs tucked delicately beneath her, and she wore a simple green pajama set that she wore stunningly well. He tried not to stare. He tried to think of something else, and it occurred to him then that he wasn't sure when he had last seen a pair of pajamas. Hospital gowns, sure. But pajamas? The lab certainly hadn't supplied any. But maybe before the lab? he have been in Nibelheim then… except they had to be in uniform the whole time, so that wasn't right. Maybe before that?

Gods, his life was depressing.

Aerith's hands played with the simple bed cover. "Hey," she eventually murmured.

"… Hey."

"You… just gonna keep staring?"

Was he staring? Gods, probably.

"Um, is there something on my face?" she asked, frowning.

"What? Oh. Um, no. No, there's nothing on your face. I was just..." His voice trailed off as he briefly wondered if he should be cheesy or honest, but before he could properly weigh out the pros and cons, his traitorous mouth admitted, "I just couldn't remember the last time I saw a pair of pajamas."

Aerith's eyes widened a fraction, but then her entire expression collapsed into something a little sadder, a little more somber, a little more heart wrenching. She held her hands out to him. "Zack... come here."

And Zack, after a brief moment's hesitation, went to her. The mattress groaned as it accepted his weight, his knees formed deep craters beneath him, and everything inside of him felt jumpy – like he was walking towards a fight but couldn't see the enemy, like he was toeing the edge of a cliff but couldn't see the drop-off, like he was diffusing a bomb but couldn't decide between the red or blue wire. He just about flinched when Aerith's fingertips brushed his cheeks. His nerves sparked. His lungs hurt. His chest felt heavy, but he didn't know why.

"Come closer," Aerith whispered, and he obeyed without thinking. Somehow, some way, in the span of a breath, he ended up collapsed against her, his head resting on her shoulder with her arms wrapped around him. Her skin was warm. Her damp hair tickled his forehead. He could hear her heart beating through her shirt, and if he closed his eyes, the world stopped spinning for a moment – just for a moment, just long enough that he could pick up his broken pieces and find himself again.

"Um, Aerith…" His voice was muffled by her shirt and strained by the tightness in his throat. "I… I don't think..."

Aerith rested her cheek on the top of his head and, as his voice trailed off into silence, whispered, "You can say it." Her hands ran through his hair, gently working out the tangles he had missed earlier. "It's okay."

But he only shook his head. "Sorry," he murmured. His eyes stung. "I think I'm just tired."

Her fingers gently worked out a knot in his hair. "Physically tired, or a different kind of tired?"

His gaze fell towards the covers. He did feel tired, but that wasn't everything, was it? He also felt fractured. Starved for gentles touches and peaceful places. He felt numb and heavy, and he couldn't find the right words to express it all.

So he whispered, "I don't think I can do this anymore."

Aerith hummed against the top of his head. "Do what?"

"I don't know. Everything."

He felt Aerith sigh, and she bent down to lightly pressed her lips against his forehead. A shudder coursed through him; his eyes closed involuntarily. He had been shot at, experimented on, betrayed, used, and discarded… and yet it was her soft touch that had him coming apart at the seams. Something cracked within him; a piece of his glass heart chipped and broke away. Did she not understand how easily she bruised him? Did she not understand how ruined he was?

"That's okay," she replied, like it wasn't her voice that was slicing him to pieces. "Nobody can do everything by themselves. That's why you have friends, who can help you. I can help you. I want to help you," she affirmed. "There is nothing more I want to do than face the entire world with you, together. But you have to let me in. Let me try. Give me the chance to prove myself to you – to prove that you don't have to carry everything alone." Then, with a voice so faint it could have been mistaken for the breeze: "Let me in, Zack."

Zack's voice cracked. "But I – I don't know how."

"How about you start by tell me what's hurting you," Aerith suggested, and he blinked as her thumb brushed against his damp eyelashes. "What hurts?"

"I don't know."

"Mm… how about your head?" She pressed a kiss to his forehead, one so tender that he felt like his chest would burst, before asking, "Did that help?"

Something hot streaked down his cheek. "A little," he whispered.

"And how about your shoulders?" Aerith asked, shifting so she could press her lips against one of them. Stars exploded beneath his skin. "Do they hurt?"

"…No."

"Hands?"

Zack's gaze was watery as she kissed the scars adorning his fingers. "Not anymore."

"And your heart?"

"Nnn…" he began, but his voice trailed off into sickly silence. Something inside of him had dropped away with her question, and nothing came in to fill the resulting cavern. His heart hurt. Gods, his heart hurt. It was strange; so much had happened that he hadn't noticed it before, but now it was all he could think of. His awareness orbited the hollow ache in his chest.

"Yes," he whispered. A tear slid down his cheek, and he inhaled a ragged breath. "Yes."

Aerith made a small, pained sound, and then they were leaning, wordlessly collapsing onto the sheets. The mattress loudly protested as they fell side-by-side, with Zack still tucked away in her arms and Aerith curled around him as best she could.

He blinked up at her, wide-eyed and uncertain. "Aerith…"

"Shh. It's okay." She pressed a soft kiss on his forehead for emphasis. "Just relax. You don't have to say anything more."

Zack's expression softened. It was true; he didn't particularly feel like talking right now, but she happened to be fluent in the language of silence. She smiled at him. She brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes and then, with impossible gentleness, placed her lips right above his heart. How simple the act was, and how deeply it burned. Bruised, he suddenly recalled, I am bruised. When had accepting kindness become a rebellion? When had something so simple begun hurting so bad?

"And the scar next to it," he whispered.

Aerith obliged with flinching at the knot of tissue, and then seamlessly continued to the next ropey scar without his asking. One by one she smoothed every hurt: every deep, ragged gash, every thin surgical cut, every silvery injection site, and not once did she turn away from the mess tangled on his skin.

He loved her for it. He loved her with an intensity that surprised him, and in a single instant, he recalled that he had traveled the continent for her – that he had survived to be with her. Brittle emotion swelled in his chest. Maybe the world hadn't been created to be a bouquet of misery. Maybe – just maybe – it had been created so that they could find each other in it.

"And I got a small cut on my lower lip," Zack murmured once Aerith had worked her way through every scar.

She turned to face him. Silent laughter brightened her eyes, and in complete seriousness she said, "That must sting."

Something sparked within him at her words. "It does."

"Would a kiss make it better?"

The spark ignited an ember. "It would."

And Aerith laughed, a beautiful sound, before she leaned up and kissed him. Once, twice, a third time, until the ember became a wildfire against his skin and he burned beneath her touch. His hands reached up on their own volition. His fingers threaded her hair. A moan passed between them, formless and honeyed and divine, and their mouths pressed against one another, insistent and intense and desperate. Her body molded against his until they were one and the same – one being, one wild thought – and his soul began singing:

Welcome home,

Welcome home,

Welcome home.

Elena stepped into the Shinra elevator, head held high and expression cool and composed, as always. Her cellphone, which was full of damning evidence, felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket. Never before had she felt more certain of a promotion. After all, not only had she rooted out a traitor in the Turks – something that was stunningly rare to begin with – but she had done it all by herself, a rookie, with nothing but her phone and a hunch. Not even Tseng could boast of an accomplishment like that, and he was a legend.

He would have to recognize her now.

The elevator dinged as it reached her desired floor, and she stepped out into the hallway with a spring in her step. Tseng's office was just down the hall. Even though it was an ungodly hour in the morning, his office light was still on and there was a faint scent of coffee in the air.

Tseng hates coffee, she recalled, but she pushed the thought out of mind as she strode up to the door. He might be busy working on something right now, but she was confident that whatever he was doing, it wasn't nearly as important as what she was about to convey.

Just thinking about it made her giddy, and she threw open the door with slightly more force than necessary. "Tseng," she announced, "I have proof that Cissnei has betray…"

But the words died in her throat.

She wasn't the only guest in Tseng's office.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. "M – My apologies, sir," she said hastily as Rufus Shinra – the son of President Shinra – turned his steeled glower towards her. She stood up a bit straighter; her mind tumbled in on itself as she thought, Rufus shouldn't be here.He summoned people to his office; he didn't visit other people's offices. So why….? No, it didn't matter why Rufus was here. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have been more careful.

She dipped her head in a bow. "I'll return at a more convenient time," she said, but Rufus waved his hand in dismissal.

"No, go on." He leaned back in the very plush chair he was sitting on with one eyebrow lifted towards Tseng, his expression saying, I told you so. "You were saying something about a betrayal within the Turks?"

"I..." She glanced to Tseng for confirmation, and Tseng – after a pause – inclined his head. His expression remained neutral, but there was no mistaking the tired lines around his eyes or the tense way his fingers folded beneath his chin. Everything within her knotted and twisted with the gesture. "I… did, sir."

Rufus nodded, as if this was expected. "Well, go on. Out with it."

All of a sudden, Elena felt like she was making a horrible mistake. But there was nothing she could do about it now – she couldn't disobey a direct order – so she forced herself to slip her phone out of her pocket and press Play.

Cissnei's voice immediately filtered up from the phone's speaker, delicate and precise. "-ust came to talk. I did promise that I would meet you later, after all..."

This was an emotional chapter for me to write, for reasons.

Also, this is the VERY LAST CHAPTER of the Wall Market arc (wtf), so we'll begin the new arc with the next chapter! That means that I'll be taking some time to finalize that outline, but that shouldn't take too much time.

However, if you enjoy story updates or chapter previews, feel free to follow my twitter at Rand0mSmil3z - everything gets posted there first! Links to my Ko-Fi page can also be found there if you'd like to support my writing, but there's absolutely no pressure to do so - if you're enjoying the story, then I'm happy :)