They made their way over to AVALANCHE's safehouse, past the guards and surveillance equipment with less trouble than Veld had honestly expected. It was sheer luck that they were closest to where Veld and Vincent had been stationed, letting them get there before any of the enhanced did.

"Their security is abysmal," Vincent murmured, helping him through a window into the second floor's storage area.

"They're scattered and shaken; from everything Rufus said, Fuhito was the mastermind behind their attacks," Veld said. "He planned the where and when and how, with Elfé as a puppet leader for inspiration."

"And Shears?" Vincent asked.

"Former leader of a lot of them, but they'd more or less pledged to Elfé at this point," Veld said. "Assuming Rufus' intel is accurate. Even if he told us exactly what Fuhito said, he's also said the man was practically delusional with his ideals."

"So they've lost their plans, but the minions have no idea that their real leader is dead," Vincent said. "That gives us an edge, if they're out of sync."

"It does, but I have no idea how long it'll last," Veld said. "All this ultimately does is make their movements unpredictable."

"Everyone loves a variable," Vincent quipped.

"Said no director ever," Veld said. He paused, hearing voices ahead, and gestured for Vincent to follow him.

The second floor had a landing that stretched nearly all the way around, giving a perfect view of the majority of the first floor, where Elfé and Shears had settled. Veld's heart skipped double-time, seeing her in person. The hair and coloring was his, and the stern mantle of command she carried herself with, but her face was all Jess and gods, but it hurt. He swallowed hard and tried to remember what the hell he'd planned to say to her. She was less than a thirty second walk away, after twelve years of thinking she'd died, and he thought he was a little justified being overwhelmed.

Then Vincent was pulling him back flush against him, a hand over his mouth to stifle any sound of surprise, just in time for him to hear movement from below.

"What is it?" Shears, not yet urgent but carrying a note of preemptive tension.

"I need a walk. Clear my head a bit," Elfé said. "Keep checking in with our team leaders."

"Alright… you do that."

"She knows we're here," Vincent whispered, voice just a breath by his ear.

Veld nodded slightly and backed up with him, silent as a pair of cats. "I take it you have a plan?"

"I don't want you getting too close to her until we find out how she's going to react to you," Vincent said. "If she could stand up to a First Class SOLDIER in close quarters, she could maul you."

Some part of him was violently opposed to the mere thought. This was his baby girl. Felicia would never hurt him.

But this wasn't Felicia. This was Elfé. And until he knew how Felicia had become Elfé, he had to approach this as a Turk, not her father.

Only he wasn't sure he could, and from the look Vincent was giving him, he'd clearly thought the same thing. "I'll go first."

"Vincent…" Veld hesitated, having too much to say and not sure how to say it.

"Trust me," Vincent said softly. "I've got your back."

Veld smiled crookedly. "Anytime, partner."

Elfé came up the stairs slowly, ears straining for sound. She hadn't heard anything at first, too distracted by her own thoughts, but she'd felt something. Something not unlike SOLDIER, but wilder. Raw. Untamed.

She didn't like it.

Shears knew, of course. He'd known from the moment she tensed that something was up. And he also knew that by actively doing check-ins he could call for backup, if necessary, which the better option was. Junon was still one of ShinRa's cities, but not like Midgar. It wasn't held in the same chokehold, couldn't be held in the same chokehold without compromising itself as a public port. Maybe someday it would be military exclusive, but so long as they had people coming in and out on their own terms for business, education, or just passing through, there would be a status quo of a steady stream of new faces to get lost in. She fully planned to take advantage.

She did a circuit of the first floor, then keyed the headset Shears had made her wear to tell the group upstairs that she suspected they had an intruder. With Fuhito's death still fresh in their minds, they all took it more seriously this time.

They let her move first, but she could feel eyes on the hall - a sniper across from the other side of the landing.

The power was close, and breathtaking at close range - it still had the heady feeling of the enhanced, but there was so much more. Wild as a monster, powerful as a summon, she had no idea what she was dealing with, and she didn't like it. The urge to brandish her blade was strong, but she kept it merely in hand, low at her side. Ready to attack or defend, but not actively hostile. If this didn't have to come down to a fight, she'd prefer not to. She just wasn't counting on it.

"Who's there?" She said at last, voice pitched to carry.

There was a moment's silence before a man stepped into the hall, and she immediately knew he was the source of what she was feeling. Mako eyes glowed a feral red in the dim light of the hall, a crimson mantle draped around broad shoulders and hanging raggedly down his thighs. She could just make out part of a gun strapped to his thigh.

He blinked at her, tilting his head slightly. "Elfé."

She straightened her stance, looking him over, taking in the wicked gold gauntlet. "Who are you."

"A friend," he said quietly. "…Felicia."

Pain lanced through her head, and her breath caught. "…what did you say?"

"Felicia Faraman." A second voice, familiar for reasons she didn't understand. Her eyes moved to the side and she looked at him, seeing pain and something else. Something she couldn't identify, as her head was suddenly swimming. She took a half step back, swaying on her feet as another bolt of pain nearly blinded her. The name echoed in his voice, but it sounded… younger. Softer. Warm. Recognition flitted on the edges of her consciousness and she stared at the blurry figure as it took a step towards her, only to be restrained by the red-eyed man.

Images and sensations flashed through her mind, too quickly to fully process. A strong, broad hand mussing her hair. A low chuckle. The scent of pine and cigarettes and gunpowder. A feeling that she was impossibly safe in a warm embrace, gentle but strong and encompassing in a way she was just now remembering. She hit the ground, staring unseeingly at the floor for a long moment.

She knew this man. Somehow, against all odds, she knew him. She wet her lips and tried to form words against the hot throbbing in her skull. "Papa?"

There was the sound of a gunshot, and everything went black.