"I'm a terrible person," she repeated, this time choking up a little. Guilt coursed through her, and she couldn't look Zidane in the face. Instead, she stared at the hem of her sleeves, her hands on her knees.

"Just a few hours ago, I watched one of my friends brutally murdered... and some part of me is relieved that I'll never need to be responsible for hurting his feelings." The way he'd smiled at her that moment before the shots rang out. He hadn't looked at her like that before.