Denzel hadn't run so hard in his life. Daylight blinded him as he burst outside into the congested town of Icicle Inn. The altered weather in Meteor's wake had melted the ice around the northern crater, and the town was now filled with tourists. He rushed into the anonymity, stumbled, scraped his palms, then kept on running. His legs pumped battery acid and his lungs burned.

He stole a glance over his shoulder. There was no pursuit, but that didn't mean he could slow down.

A tall dark suit appeared in his way, and he collided head-on, spilling onto the pavement.

"Watch it, you stupid kid!"

The man towered above him, bright red hair in stark contrast to the blue sky above.

"Hey, wait a minute. Aren't you that kid? Uh, Strife's kid?"

Denzel tried to catch his breath, and looked up at the man. Yes, he was quite familiar. Oh no, now he remembered him. He bolted up, but another dark suit cut him off. A bald man with sunglasses.

"S-s-stay away from me!" Denzel shouted. "Tifa told me never to talk to you!"

This elicited a laugh from the redhead.

"Oh yeah? Tifa's kid then. That makes sense, I guess."

The bald man said nothing.

"Whatcha doin' way up here, kid?" the redhead continued. "What happened to your arm?"

Denzel saw an opening in the crowds and dove for it. Sliding out of the suit's grasp, he ran at top speed, not looking back.

He had to get off the street. He had to get out of sight. If Cloud were looking for him…

A sign on the next street corner caught his eye. Store for rent. That meant vacant. Somewhere to hide.

The windows were boarded up and the door was broken in around a metal frame. It was very dark inside, but there was no time to find an alternative. If those two suits followed, Denzel was sure they'd bring him back to Cloud if they caught him. Did they even know about Tifa?

He took his chances and went in. He crouched in the corner next to the entry to see if anyone followed. Nobody did. There were old storage containers and discarded wire shelving amid piles of garbage and darkness. This place had once been a materia shop, according to the leftover signs. Now a thick coat of grime covered everything. His hands shook. He folded them against his abdomen. Stop, stop, he commanded, and held one palm against his forearm trying to staunch the blood flowing from the deep slice.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, holding the injury with slippery fingers, taking slow breaths. Once he was absolutely certain those suits were gone and that Cloud hadn't followed, he would leave town. But how? It would be impossible to book a flight with no money. If he could just get to a pay phone, maybe someone would give him a few gil and then he could—

A snap of broken glass came from behind him.

"H...Hello?" Denzel called out.

Yellowish light shone in through the cracks in the boarded windows. He swore he saw something move near him. But he couldn't go back outside yet. The suits could still be there.

There was a crunch of broken wood under someone's boot.

"I have a … a weapon!" Denzel spoke into the darkness. He didn't, but maybe that wouldn't matter. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

A hand appeared from behind. It grabbed his hair, and an arm laced around his neck. Hot breath was in his ear.

"Don't move, kiddo…" A low snarl. "You got any money?"

Denzel frantically shook his head.

"No! Let me go!" he begged.

Hit him with your elbow, he could hear Tifa's voice in his head, then spin and twist his arm away. She was gone, and the thought stung, but he obeyed. He jerked his elbow, hitting the assailant hard. A squeal of pain erupted, and he spun to face the assailant.

It was a junkie. Denzel could tell by his eyes. That dim glow of mako.

"Look, I don't have any money. So just stay away from me…" Denzel said, backing away.

A cold smile answered.

"I don't believe you," the junkie said. "You reek of money. I see that nice new backpack and your fresh clean clothes. What's with the bloody arm?"

The man produced a dagger. Shiny and serrated. Denzel's eyes went wide.

"N-n-no… Please, it was a mistake! I'm… I need to hide from…." Denzel held out one arm as if that could protect him, eyes darting between the junkie and the doorway and all the obstacles that lay between him and escape.

Now the suits didn't seem all that bad. Hell, even Cloud would be a nice sight. Wait, let's not go too far, Denzel tempered the thought.

The junkie moved fast. The dagger flashed as it caught a glint of daylight streaming in. Denzel darted, but tripped. The dagger followed. The junkie was right on top of him as he fell. He grasped desperately for something, anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers found a broken shard of glass, and he grabbed it, not caring as it cut into his palm. The blood already covering his hand from the cut on his forearm made the glass difficult to hold, but survival instinct charged through him. He gripped the shard and swung.

The man screamed. The shard of glass buried into his neck.

Denzel released and shuffled backwards. The man spurted blood and curses, crumbling to the floor. Denzel had seen people die before, he was no stranger to bloodshed, but this was the first time he'd made the killing blow.

Gurgling and sputtering, the junkie collapsed and then lay still. Blood pooled. Denzel felt sick. The dagger lay at the dead man's feet. Everything diminished into a haze of instinct and impulse. His hands were shaking again. He stuffed the dagger into his backpack and pulled himself out of the abandoned shop.

But once outside, it was clear that he had nowhere to go. The suits were right there, blocking any path.

"F-f-f-fuck," Denzel stammered.

"Ready to talk now, Strife's kid?" the redhead asked.

The bald man with the sunglasses crossed arms over his chest.

"Looks like you're in a real mess now," the Turk said with a grin.

"What do you want?" Denzel tried his best brave voice.

Reno let out a laugh. "My partner here thinks it would be...impolite if we didn't inquire after the whereabouts of Lockhart's, uh, household kid. You are their kid, right?"

He wasn't going to escape, and he didn't feel brave at all anymore. The torrent gushing from the dead man's neck was fresh in his mind, making him feel sick.

Suddenly he was crying, and he couldn't stop.

The bald suit grimaced and the redhead sighed.

"I...I need a phone…." Denzel managed to say in a weak trembling voice.

It had been over a year since Denzel was rescued by the Turks that fateful afternoon. If he hadn't run into them, if they hadn't let him call Yuffie from one of their phones…

He'd been lucky. He still remembered that phone call to Yuffie clearly. Trembling with the phone in his bloodied hand, he was positively praying that she would pick up despite the strange number he was no doubt calling from. Oddly enough, Yuffie answered on the second ring.

"Reno…?" The ninja's voice had been suspicious. "Is this about Tifa?"

At the sound of her voice, fresh tears had overcome him and he could barely get any words out. And when he did, it was a plea for help. To come get him in Icicle Inn. To bring him home to Edge.

But that hadn't been his home anymore. Not in months. Tifa was gone. Marlene was in Kalm.

Yuffie arrived with her friend, Cid, on an airship, and the Turks had departed. Denzel had stayed with them until she arrived only because he figured they could potentially put up a fight if Cloud showed up. He hadn't, of course, which brought Denzel equal parts relief and disappointment. There had been a part of him that was hoping he was wrong about Cloud all along.

Denzel curled his palm into a fist. He wasn't wrong.

He stood and stretched. It was midnight. He couldn't sleep again, and he decided to head outside. Sometimes walking helped. Sometimes not.

He was in the bedroom that he shared with Marlene in Elmyra's house in Kalm. Marlene was asleep in the bunk above him, and the entire house was quiet and dark. He glanced up and saw that Marlene actually wasn't sleeping at all. She was watching him with big brown eyes.

"Go to sleep. I'm going out for a walk," he said to her.

"...I had a bad dream," she confessed. "Don't go."

Bad dreams had become frequent for Marlene since Tifa died, and Denzel didn't blame her. It had been hard on both of them.

"Sure, okay," Denzel allowed then stepped over to her. His head was at the same height as her bunk, and he leaned against it with one arm. "So what was it this time?"

"It was Cloud."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, he was hurt…"

"Doesn't sound like a bad dream to me."

"No, he was really hurt. Like blood and stuff." She curled under the covers.

He waited for her to continue, but she didn't.

"Well, if I had that sorta dream, I wouldn't think much of it," he said, trying to be comforting.

"This one was really real," she said, pulling the blanket under her chin. "I'm scared."

She was nine years old, yet she acted like such a baby sometimes. He sighed.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "It was just a dream."

"What if it was a pre-munition?"

"A what?"

"Like seeing the future."

"Nobody can see the future. If that were possible, bad stuff would never happen."

They both fell silent. She inched closer to him.

"I miss Tifa," she said.

"Don't start." He turned away.

"...Sorry, I just…" Tears were already starting to well, though.

"Be brave, like I said. Brave."

Her tears receded. "Brave," she reiterated.

"Tifa may be gone, but I'm still here," he told her. "We'll stick together. That's what families do, I think."

"Will you stay up until I fall back asleep?"

He glanced out the window and the moon was visible, bright and clear. It was a long way from dawn, and he'd be unable to sleep anyways.

"Sure thing," he agreed. A walk tonight was no longer possible.

He sat on the bunk below and kept his hand on the wood of her bunk above, to reassure her that he was right there.

"Do you ever have bad dreams?" Her voice crept through the silence.

He thought for a moment. "Sure, everyone does, I mean."

"What are your bad dreams about?"

He didn't have to think for long, but he paused nevertheless. Every time his eyes closed, he was back there, in that awful moment, blood trailing fresh from his arm. There were actually two places that always repeated in his head. Two places that he dreamt about, where he still felt trapped.

Finally, he answered Marlene. He chose the lesser of the two.

"...Running. I dream that I'm running."