Looking back at the monolithic tower, she allowed herself a small, hard smile. They had the most advanced security in the world. But they had never accounted for a bartender who could read a man’s next move in the twitch of his trigger finger.
She didn't run. Running was loud. She walked—fast, fluid, and silent—back through the door, through the corridor, toward the rusted ladder that led to the surface. As she climbed, the cold wind of the Midgar night hit her face, carrying the stench of the slums below. She wiped a smear of blood off her lip—she hadn't even felt the Turk’s kick graze her. infiltration mission tifa
Infiltration wasn't about being invisible. It was about belonging. Looking back at the monolithic tower, she allowed