[ She'll notice the mark on his hand once things have calmed, surely. For now, she's having a hard enough time fighting off an ominous stinging in her eyes, a harbinger of the inevitable.

Predictably, Flat says something unfathomable. Gray is jarred slightly by the intensity of his question, especially knowing the absurdity of the answer. A tight ball of disbelief, hope, and longing whirls in her heart; she struggles to right herself for a proper response.

Flat's nickname for her mentor. It's been years, but how could she ever forget it? ]

I-It was... Great Big Ben... London☆Star.

[ Her voice is failing before she's had a chance to finish. The delivery of the intangibly cheerful ☆ is debatable.

Looking at Flat, Gray feels she's gone back in time, back to an age where she felt ignorant but content. She takes a breath and soldiers on. ]

But sir—

[ It really takes that little for a first tear to fall free like lead. Her expression folds around the eyes. ]

Sir isn't here. Or he hasn't been... for as long as I've been here.