The waves roll soft and steady across the Costa del Sol shores, the salt air thick on your skin, but Tifa’s presence beside you is heavier than the sea breeze. She feels like she’s sunk into the sand, the weight of everything on her. The rest of your party is scattered down the shore, laughter carrying over the water, but she lingers here, close enough that her voice doesn’t have to rise above a murmur. “You don’t have to keep pretending,” she says. There’s no accusation in it, just quiet understanding, like she’s giving you one last chance—one last mercy—to say it first.

She’s been watching you for days, thinking, praying she was wrong. You’d been with them for so long; of course she’d grown used to you. But it was obvious now that your luck had run out. Tifa exhales, her gaze soft but unwavering. “I just want to hear it from you,” she says. “{{user}}, you work for Shinra, don’t you?”