Her hands are nimble, even in the dawn darkness.

"How much sleep did you get?"

"Enough."

"I like this tie," Charlie murmurs, hardly having slept herself, knotting his tie and tucking it under the stiff collar of his shirt. "Here, your cufflinks."

"I wish you'd put a shirt on," he sighs, feeling dead on his feet. Truthfully, he had only slept for about three hours, and upon waking to the obnoxious ringing of his alarm, Charlie had been curled into a ball against his front, still sniffling lightly in her sleep. "There's a Turk here, and you know how little they respect your boundaries."

"It's only Tseng. He's not going to come in here."

She slides one of his cufflinks through the hole in his shirt. It's a pretty sight to see her standing in front of him, wearing hardly anything while dressing him, his eyes taking in the curve of her neck, the shadows of her breasts, the smooth skin and hard muscle of her stomach. He reaches out to touch her clumsily with his free hand, knowing that doing so will only make it harder to leave her.

Gods, she's beautiful, even with the fresh pink burns that still litter her skin, peeling and blistering, her face still bruised and her back tinged yellow. It makes him sad, to think that he's the reason she's like that.

He hadn't liked the idea of Tseng staying the night, but he had insisted on seeing Reeve home safely (unnecessary) and, as it was well past midnight when they arrived, Charlie had sleepily insisted that Tseng get some rest in the guest room (also unnecessary). He had been too tired to argue against it, and Charlie likely wouldn't have heard his argument if he tried.

Even now, Reeve knows there's no escaping Tseng—he had heard the light footsteps making their way past their bedroom door just a few minutes ago, wandering around the apartment, comfortable and at ease.

Charlie is quick to notice him so distracted, glancing down at the hand at her breast. It makes her smile, and that counts for something, at least. "And here I thought I might convince you to come back to bed. Is it working?"

Gods, he loves her. And even if everything she said last night was true, he doesn't quite think he would love her any less.

"You're cruel," he says, smiling weakly at her as she lifts his hand off his chest to fix his cuff, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. "I can't say I'm not tempted. I'm exhausted."

Charlie finishes with his other cufflink, picking up the dark blue suit jacket off the bed to help him into it. "I'll make it worth your while," she whispers, but he knows her heart isn't really in it. "You can touch me as much as you want, or I'll lay naked for a long time so you can draw me, or we can sleep for eighty hours straight."

"What I want right now," he replies in a low voice, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the crook of her neck, hunched awkwardly to just about smother her, "is for you to get back in bed and sleep for as long as you need to."

"I think I could manage that, for you."

"My mother wants to see you today," he adds, hoping it doesn't discourage her. If truth be told, he thinks Charlie could use a woman's company. "She's not angry, but please don't tell her what happened."

"That her son's boss and future father-in-law held him hostage in order to coerce a public confession from his fiancée?"

"Yes," he sighs. "Exactly that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't."

She kisses him before he goes, tugging gently on his tie as if hoping to coerce him back into bed. He protests, but very weakly, yet Charlie releases him after he pleases her with a few whispered promises and well-placed touches, and she's already sound asleep again by the time Reeve makes for the front door, the sun barely beginning to make its ascent over the horizon.

He's uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her alone, afraid that she'll leave the apartment before Reno and Rude arrive to keep her company and do something that might jeopardize her safety. Or perhaps he should be concerned about his own safety, after the stunt her father decided to pull last night.

There's already a car waiting outside the apartment building when he steps out into the smog-choked air of Midgar, and Tseng is already waiting in the backseat, so focused on the text he's in the middle of sending that he hardly notices Reeve join him in the car.

It's a short ride to the Shinra building, but long enough that Reeve has time to sneak glances at Tseng, his mind doing its utmost to break his heart. There are so many things he dislikes about the Turks, the main one being their close proximity to Charlie at all times combined with his general lack of knowledge about their histories with her.

Charlie doesn't like talking about her childhood, and Reeve can understand that, but sometimes he wants to know everything, wants to know how a ragtag band of upjumped security guards became something of a family to her as she blossomed into late adolescence. It's all so suspect, especially with them all being so close in age with her.

Or he may just be overthinking, his brain reaching for something to latch onto that isn't the reactor bombings or the many casualties resulting from those bombings.

"You never told me," Reeve begins, irritated to find that Tseng doesn't bother to lift his eyes from his phone. That lack of respect doesn't extend towards Charlie, he knows. "How did you and Charlie meet?"

"If Charlotte hasn't told you, I don't think it's my place to say, Director," Tseng replies, finally lowering his phone to smile smugly at Reeve. "It's not a thrilling story, so you can relax."

"Well, if you tell me now, I promise not to mention it."

They look at each other for a long moment, seated on opposite ends of the leathery bench in the back of the car. The driver pays them little mind, instead focusing on navigating the early morning traffic of Midgar.

"Her safety has always been a top priority for the Turks," Tseng answers simply, giving his thin shoulders a shrug and looking out the window at the gray sky, slowly lightening with the rising sun. "We used to draw straws to determine who would watch over her, and as the newest recruit, I was often very unlucky."

"Your greatest priority's security was determined by straws?" Reeve asks again, more than surprised by this information. Though, after a moment to really think about it, it's no less than what he truly expected from them.

This makes Tseng laugh softly, hiding his smile behind a long-fingered hand. "Charlotte was only a young girl, and a difficult one alongside the vice president. I hope you don't think me impertinent, Director."

"Yet to be determined. Continue."

"I only meant that she was headstrong and defiant," Tseng tells him, lowering his hand back down to his lap. "Not everyone is equipped with the fortitude to keep watch over a teenage girl. Many Turks who were successful in every field mission failed where Charlotte was concerned."

Reeve scoffs. Having known Charlie since she was at the peak of her bratty teenage years, he can only imagine what she might have been like to those she wasn't immediately fond of.

"She only wanted someone to talk to, and was more than content when I allowed her to talk for hours without interrupting her. All she wanted was a friend."

That sounds about right. It's how he had attracted Charlie's attention in the first place, all by listening to her chatter without stopping her, without making her feel like her chatter was nonsensical and useless and annoying, even when it could be all three of those things. Besides, she had grown out of that, and Reeve doesn't mind listening to her talk at length so much anymore.

"How did she become your responsibility?" Reeve asks, wondering if it's all professional, or if the Turk does feel some form of affection for Charlie. No doubt it's the latter. Spending as much time around someone as Tseng does Charlie can certainly influence one's feelings towards them. "Was it Rufus who asked that of you?"

"Yes, the vice president has asked that I keep a close eye on his sister, but no, it was not him initially," Tseng replies. "I made a promise to an old friend that I would care for her."

"Who?"

Tseng smiles. For a man whose entire job demands a repression of feelings and anything close to them, Reeve thinks Tseng is likely far more amiable than he lets on, and he's sure Charlie knows that well enough, considering her attachment to him.

Reeve only half-expects the answer Tseng gives him. "Veld."

"Planning on gettin' outta bed today, princess?"

"No."

"Don't be like that, Charlie."

Charlie feels Reno sit down on Reeve's side of the bed, her back to him, allowing the bright winter sunlight to stream in through the wide windows, warming her bare skin. "I want to talk to Tseng," she murmurs, closing her eyes again, burying her face in her pillow. "Bring him to me."

"Why?" Reno scoffs, and Charlie is sure he's feigning offense, even if she can't see him. "C'mon, I got things to do today. Wanna come? It'll be fun. Just the three of us."

This makes her roll over, thoroughly annoyed by him now. "Do I, Charlotte Shinra, who just announced to the world her heinous crimes, want to go out and do things with you today? Do you really value my life so little, Reno?"

"I get your point," Reno murmurs bitterly, frowning down at her, his back propped up against the headboard like he belongs here. "But you have to get out of bed eventually, and you gotta get dressed. You can't just lay here naked and sulking all day. It's not a good look for ya."

"I'm wearing underwear."

"Prove it."

His joke doesn't have the intended effect. Instead of smiling, Charlie rolls back over, scooting towards the edge of the bed to place as much distance between them as possible.

Reno huffs playfully. "You wouldn't survive a night with me, babe. You're too used to the tender lovemaking the director gives you. I'm talkin' pure, carnal, impulsive fucking."

"You're right. Your bony prick would probably slice up my insides, if I didn't develop a combination of three different diseases beforehand."

"Wanna find out?"

Charlie glances over her shoulder to look at him. "You're gutter trash, Reno, do you know that?" She's pleased to see him scowl, at least, before she looks back towards the window. "Where are you going, anyway?"

"Ah, it's boring stuff, y'know? Gotta check out the Sector Five slums, return to my gutter trash roots. You wouldn't be interested. Like I said, it's really boring." Reno shifts behind her, and when he speaks again, his mouth seems very close to her ear. "So . . . you gonna tell me why you need Tseng so bad?"

"It's none of your business," Charlie snaps. "What I talk about with your boss is private."

"Ah," Reno says. "I see. Need to have a good, private chat with the boss, huh?" He laughs, enjoying himself too much. "Y'know, I'm right here. You can give me the message and I'll pass it on."

"No. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Reno sighs, slipping off the bed and making an unnecessary amount of noise while doing so, moaning and groaning and stretching and yawning. "Which means your pretty little self will be left all alone. Who's gonna make sure the rebellious princess Charlotte Shinra doesn't sneak out to blow up another reactor?"

She feels something in her snap, and she sits up straight, holding the sheet to her bare chest to give him the angriest look she can muster, though she's sure it falls flat. Her face still feels puffy from all the crying she'd done last night and this morning, and her hair hasn't been tended to for hours.

Reno is smiling. It takes her a moment to realize he was only joking, and for the first time, she feels very connected to her father, wishing that he'd wipe the smug grin off his face and be serious for once. "Did I touch a nerve?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

He knows, she can't help but think. He knows, but he hasn't said anything to anyone. "What do you want, Reno?"

"A lot of things," he says, reaching up as high as he can, his shirt riding up to expose his hard stomach, lacing his fingers together behind his head when he's done giving her a show. "I want you to drop the sheet so I can see your tits. I want you to get out of bed and stop actin' like a little kid. I want to go sleep in my own bed instead of scouting the slums. I want a hot breakfast served to me in bed by a scantily clad woman. Can you do any of those things for me?"

"No."

"Not even the 'get the hell out of bed' one?"

"You're not funny." Charlie reaches over to her phone, sitting on the nightstand. There's one text from Cid she has yet to read, afraid that it will reveal some form of a filthy accusation within. "Why isn't Rufus answering my phone calls?"

"Daddy made it very clear that he isn't to speak to you, ya filthy traitor," he teases, but Charlie still fails to find the humor in it.

"So he's still not content with simply firing me and placing me under a horribly supervised house arrest—"

"Don't forget he froze your access to the accounts."

"No, I definitely haven't forgotten that," she hisses at him, sighing heavily and attempting to flatten her hair. "Why doesn't he want me talking to Rufus? He couldn't bear to have his own son hear the truth of things?"

Reno stoops to pick up a discarded blouse of hers off the floor, balling it up and wrinkling it just to throw it at her face. "I'm sure he doesn't want both of his children scheming against him, plotting a coup."

Charlie tenses as she slides into the blouse, buttoning it slowly, looking directly into Reno's eyes as if expecting to see there whether or not he's lying. "A coup?" she asks. "Is that what Rufus is planning?"

"Why do you want to talk to Tseng so badly?"

Charlie traces her teeth with her tongue. "What business do you have in the Sector Five slums?"

"What're you doin' hiring Avalanche sympathizers as personal assistants?"

"Why can't you and the rest of you Turks just keep your stupid noses out my private life? Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

"Is that really what you want?"

Reno nearly jumps at the sound of Rude's voice, and Charlie's angry protests die on the tip of her tongue at the sight of him. He isn't angry—if anything, he's amused, one side of his mouth turned upwards.

The last thing she wants is to sound so ungrateful in front of a man who has dedicated nearly half his life to protecting her, all on her brother's orders, of course, and never shying away from that tediously dull task.

Charlie and Reno meet eyes for a split second, the both of them looking slightly abashed at having been overheard.

"You have a visitor," Rude tells her, sounding as if he's not holding a grudge over what he just heard her say. "Reno, we need to leave. It's getting late."

Once Charlie's apartment is free of Turks, she deems it safe enough to slip out of bed and dress, sliding into jeans that have been tucked away in her bottom dresser drawer for ages.

Before leaving, she tries calling Rufus one more time. She must have already left him a dozen voicemails, half of them incoherent, as she had been crying through them. He doesn't answer this time, either.

"Rufus, please call me back," she sighs, pacing at the foot of her bed. "I need to talk to you. I need to hear your voice." She rubs at the bridge of her nose. "I need you to tell me everything is going to be all right. I know for a fact Tseng probably already told you everything, but he won't answer my calls, either—"

Her message is cut off, and she immediately calls him again, still hoping he'll answer. She leaves him another message, growing frustrated.

"Please come to Midgar, Rufus. I need you. I need you here, please. Please come. I love you, and I need to talk to you."

Rufus won't be able to ignore a voicemail like that. She knows him too well, and knows that he loves to play the hero where she's involved.

The moment she steps out of her bedroom, she hears the tell-tale sounds of Reeve's mother—kitchen cabinets opening and closing, dishes being moved around in the sink, the sound of running water and the low hum of the television running a news segment no doubt related to the bombings and Charlie's own teary-eyed, bombshell confession.

She's an older woman, Ruvie, maybe older than Charlie's own aging father, and tougher than she looks, which is part of the reason Charlie likes her so much. She's not unlike her son, her graying hair once dark, prone to falling into the dark eyes of her narrow face, now wrinkled and spotted with age. Her nose is slightly overlarge, pink at the tip, but her smile is just as warm as Reeve's is, and when her soft hands come to rest on either side of Charlie's face, they are just as comforting as Reece's, as well.

"Oh, Charlotte," Ruvie breathes, pressing light, maternal, undeserved kisses to each of Charlie's cheeks. "I can't believe your own father made you say such terrible things." Her grip on Charlie's cheeks tighten. "But if it were true, I don't think I would . . . well, what I think doesn't matter in front of the president's daughter. You know better than I."

Charlie smiles. She only partially means it. Reeve had told her before—several times very apologetically—when he had first brought her home for dinner, explaining hastily in the backseat of a chauffeured car that his mother heavily disagreed with the way Shinra ran Midgar. She must have been only nineteen at the time, and later, he would confess his anxiety over bringing home President Shinra's young daughter to his mother for critical inspection, which Charlie knows had embarrassed him, as Reeve hadn't even found the courage to admit in words that he liked her anymore than he should before that night.

"Your kitchen is a mess," his mother continues, lowering her hands from Charlie's face, who trails after her into the kitchen. Dishes sit unwashed on the counter and in the sink (seemingly used very recently, giving her reason to believe Reno made himself very comfortable here over the course of the morning), a few empty bottles of wine are scattered about, and Cat has left some of his dry food on the floor.

"Our housekeeper quit," Charlie admits, sitting down at one of the tall chairs by the counter as Ruvie sets to work doing the dishes. "We haven't found time to dedicate to cleaning. You should see the pile of laundry I have in the bedroom."

"For as bright as you are, Charlotte, you're very useless, as well. You're lucky Reeve was raised by such an involved mother. Boys these days can't do anything at all," she teases, moving with surprising agility. "Rude said you'd been in bed all morning."

"I didn't sleep well last night. Reeve didn't come home until after midnight."

"That's no way for a man to act while he's to be married," Ruvie tells her sternly, as Charlie stretches as far as she can to turn on the coffee machine.

"He's been busy with work, mama. It's not like he's having an affair. I'd never believe it of your son," Charlie replies, smiling at her concern. "Besides, my father cut me off, so he's working for the both of us now, bless him."

"Do you have any money saved?"

Charlie drags a hand down her face, not even wanting to think about it, but coffee helps. "Enough to last us a while. Don't worry, Reeve will take care of me, and Rufus will make sure we don't lack for anything."

She checks her phone again, just to make sure she hasn't missed any calls or texts from her brother. The unopened text from Cid mocks her, and it makes her heart race to think of what might be written.

Money won't be an issue. Money will never be an issue, and she knows that, but it's a severe blow to her pride to know that she may have to rely on Rufus to attend to her every need. She won't apologize for enjoying a life of luxury, but it's one thing to have Rufus pay for things they both know she can afford, and a completely different thing to have him pay for things she can't.

Reeve, no doubt, would rather make sacrifices than have to rely on anyone, especially Rufus, but Charlie is afraid to see the lengths he's willing to go to. They've already lost their housekeeper, which had annoyed her to no end.

"Has my son been feeding you?" she asks suddenly, eyes sweeping over what's visible of Charlie's body, slumped against the counter. "You look awful skinny, little lady. He's always been a wonderful cook."

"Your son takes such good care of me, mama, don't worry." She gives Ruvie a weary smile.

"You look tired, child."

Charlie shrugs, one elbow propped on the counter to support her head, which feels heavier than usual. Her body has been unusually sore lately, no doubt due to the burns still healing along her body, peeling horribly down her side, painful blisters bubbling on her sensitive, tender skin.

"I am," she confesses.

For years now, Ruvie has doted on her as a mother would dote upon a daughter. Charlie has long suspected Ruvie has known about the gaping hole left in her own heart from her own mother, the memory of her riding away on the back of a truck always cropping up in a dream every now and then.

There's something about her, though, that makes Charlie trust her almost instinctively. There's a fight to her, a certain kind of spirit, treating Charlie like a person instead of a Shinra, treating her like an equal, and unafraid to speak up against Shinra's injustices to the face of the president's daughter.

Charlie has always enjoyed gossiping with her, speaking mostly of Reeve and giggling upon the learning of some new fact about him. Ruvie had even been the one to let slip her son had certainly loved her for some time, something that both shocked Charlie and made perfect sense when she stopped to think about it.

"But how do you know?" Charlie had asked, hardly daring to believe it, whispering to his mother while he was off in the kitchen. She had been twenty, and Cid was slowly becoming the center of her solar system, having been spending nearly everyday with him, working on the Highwind. "Did he really say that?"

"Not exactly," Ruvie had replied, smiling fondly, "but he's never brought another woman home before."

It had excited her, made her heart flutter, and the memory of it still makes her stomach churn.

She had waited weeks for him to say something, to do something, that might indicate his mother was right. But he only continued to publicly spurn her advances (albeit with a flush on his face), shy and uncomfortable when conversation got a little too flirtatious, embarrassed when Charlie would try and coerce a confession out of him.

After that, Charlie stopped believing it was true. Maybe he did love her, as she loved him after all those years together, but she didn't think he would ever find the courage to admit it.

If he knew now what she had done . . . to think of everything that would be undone . . . to think about how little he might trust her, to think about how his feelings might change . . . and if he didn't want to marry her anymore . . .

Maybe it's for that reason (and the fact that if she doesn't talk about it soon, it will literally eat away at her) that Charlie whispers, with sudden tears in her eyes, "I've done something horrible."

Perhaps it's just Charlie's overactive imagination, but she thinks Ruvie may already know what she's going to say. "What is it?"

"Reeve would hate me."

"He could never hate you. We'll get through it, no matter what it is. Tell me, child."

Charlie opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the sudden ringing of her phone. She jumps, scrambling for it, answering it before even checking to see who it is.

"Rufus?"

"Hell no," comes a voice she would recognize anywhere, "you gotta sec?"

She blushes heatedly, glancing up at Reeve's mother. "I can't talk right now," she tells Cid. "I have to go."

"Just a second, I swear! I just wanna talk!"

Charlie hesitates, her heart beating very fast. Ruvie has already busied herself with the dishes, her back to Charlie as she talks on the phone. "I'll call you back in a little bit. I promise, all right? This is a bad time."

He sighs on the other end, likely assuming she won't follow through with her promise. "Promise?"

"Yes. Good-bye."

She hangs up the call, thoroughly embarrassed, and she can feel her cheeks stinging. What had he wanted to talk about? What had been so important that he felt bold enough to just call her like that? With Reeve's mother still working on cleaning their dirty dishes, Charlie quickly opens the text from Cid she's been neglecting all night and all morning.

Are you ok?

She almost laughs. She had expected much worse. She had expected anger, fury, accusations, a scolding. She had expected Cid to call her a 'murderer', at least once, and to chastise her for something so extremist.

At least, if Reeve does hate her for what she's done, she still has one friend she can count on.

Unsure if she's able to confess now, after having been interrupted, Charlie remains quiet, and Ruvie doesn't press her for anymore details. Eventually, she feels too guilty letting Reeve's mother do all the cleaning, and Charlie puts some distance between them by slowly cleaning the living room, finding it difficult to bend down without breaking any of her blisters, her lower back aching painfully, and Cat kneads at her side while she picks up old take-out boxes off the coffee table, making her cry out with pain.

The news anchor on the television plays a clip of last night's bombing again, and Charlie can't look away. Crisis management has reacted much quicker this time, having been expecting it, most likely, and having some form of practice after the last bombing of mako reactor one.

Still, the explosion was too big. Charlie had made that bomb perfectly, and there's no possible way that it could have produced such an explosion. Jessie must have switched out the bombs, or some other member of Avalanche, or they could have left behind multiple bombs to increase the amount of damage done.

Dusk is falling when Ruvie leaves the apartment, and Charlie is tempted to follow her. She knows the Turks have not made a mistake by leaving her alone, that if she leaves, they will know and they will find her and bring her back, or they're giving her slightly more leniency at Rufus's request.

Regardless, she doesn't leave her apartment, afraid of walking the streets and hearing others talk about her. She's afraid of being labeled a terrorist, afraid of hearing lies spoken about her in broad daylight.

Instead, Charlie locks herself in her office. It takes her fifteen minutes to gather the strength to press 'call' with Cid's name lit up on her contacts. The last thing she wants to do, right now, is talk to Cid and be forced to explain herself. How will she do that, anyway?

Oh, yeah, it's nothing really, I just built a bomb in the hopes of destroying my father's company's things! I told you it was scary, and now you know why! Thanks for calling, but I think I can handle the crushing guilt myself.

He answers after four rings, sounding out of breath. "Hey, you called back."

"I told you I would."

"You told me a lot of things, kiddo."

Charlie hates herself for smiling, even if it is weak. She's just glad that Cid isn't able to see it, knowing that he would tease her mercilessly. "What do you want, Cid?"

"I wanna know why you were on TV last night lookin' like someone went to town on your face," he begins, and she closes her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose, "and I wanna know why you were cryin'."

"I wasn't crying," she insists, unable to remember if she had been or not. "What of that business is yours, anyway?"

"Lottie, you were standin' up there lookin' like you were bein' forced at gunpoint to give that speech," Cid retorts hotly. "You ain't gonna tell me what's goin' on?"

"You don't have a right to that information," she hisses. She doesn't really want to be cruel to him. After all, he had called to make sure she was all right, probably very shocked to see her in such a state, but it embarrasses her, it humiliates her.

"Was it true, at least?"

Charlie pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat, looking around her office for something to look at, something to distract her from the way the bodies had burned, from the way the buildings had collapsed in on themselves, from the way the streets were filled with high-pitched screams.

"Yeah," she admits, her voice hardly more than a whisper. She can't even believe she's said it, especially to Cid. "Some of it was true."

Cid is quiet for a long time, only beginning to speak again at the same time that her phone beeps in her ear. She pulls it away from her face and sighs.

"Cid, I have to go. I have another call."

"It's not your boyfriend, is it?"

"No, it's Tseng. I really have to go, but it was . . . nice talking to you."

"Yeah," Cid sighs. "Bye, Lottie. Take care."

Charlie hangs up almost immediately, wishing she could have spoken to him longer, wishing she could have confessed everything. "I've called you six times. Why the hell haven't you answered any of my calls?"

Tseng's voice sounds unusually strained. "Stay where you are, and pack some things. I'm on my way to get you now."

"What?" she scoffs, groaning. "Where do you suppose you're taking me? I'm not leaving my apartment."

"I'm not taking risks. I'm getting you out of Sector One." There's a long pause on Tseng's end, and Charlie is too tired to argue. "They're going to drop the Sector Seven plate tonight."

"They?" she asks again, hardly daring to believe. It sounds so outrageous, so ridiculous, and yet, there's no mistaking the obvious stiffness to Tseng's admission. "What do you mean? Who's going to drop the plate?"

"We are," he says, and Charlie's heart stops.

"You're going to drop the plate?" Charlie jumps to her feet, sprinting out of her office to look out the nearest window that affords her a few of the sector. It looks perfectly normal. "You can't do that. Why would you . . . you can't!"

"Pack your things, Charlotte. I'm coming to get you."

"Tseng!"

"Charlotte—"

"What is dropping the plate going to do for anyone?"

His answer comes after a short pause. She wishes she could see his face, wishes that she could look into his dark eyes so he's able to see what she thinks of such a stupid idea. "Shinra is going to destroy Avalanche's hide-out in the Sector Seven slums. Get ready. I'll be there in fifteen minutes, and we'll need to move quickly."