"I didn't tell you," she says, voice calm below moth-eaten patience, "Because I knew what you'd say."

Tseng stares. The city speeds past in all directions around them, man and woman stationed suddenly at the epicenter of chaotic movement. Aerith's aqua eyes trail after the train leaving their platform, sympathising with its groan of abject reluctance.

Her hands, knotted at her belly, are already protective.

"Aerith," Tseng finally starts, more afraid than he had ever been in that uniform of permanent mourning-

"We can't," they say, simultaneously.

"You're right," Aerith breathes in deep, looking up as the world falls down, "I know."