Freyr choked on her drink, spluttering and patting her chest for a few seconds until she could breathe again. That was the last place she suspected this talk would go. “But...why? No Rothians have ever died in the Cradle before, you’d have nothing to gain. Not to mention the fact that it’d be incredibly expensive and potentially futile research. We’ve tried every possible solution and had no luck at all.” Freyr felt her temperature rising. Just talking about this topic brought her back to seeing her family laying in the Cradle-Morgue, technically alive but completely unresponsive. Freyr quickly dabbed her eyes with a napkin just as two eye-catching individuals entered her field of view.

Kalax and Agent 595 had obviously had time for a quick change, because they both wore long, strapless black dresses of an exquisite material. 595 sported a delicate gold pendent that plunged into her cleavage and a very stylish clutch bag while Kalax wore a shiny black dinner jacket and a small, round, red hat on his head. They exited onto the same balcony as them and crossed behind Vreta before making their way past the table. 595 noticed Freyr looked distressed and quickly knelt beside her. “What’s happened, are you okay?” She shot a venomous look at Vreta. "Would you like a tissue?" Kalax asked, handing Freyr a pack. “Thank you. Yeah, i’m fine, just please go. I need a minute.” Freyr responded, continuing to dab her eyes. “See what you’ve done?!” 595 theatrically rounded on Vreta, wielding her clutch bag. “Five-Nine-Five, please fuck off! It’s me, not him.” Freyr demanded shakily.

595 seemed unconvinced, but gave Vreta the ‘i’m watching you’ look. “We’re right over there, let me know if you need me.” She signed off, linking arms with Kalax to head to their table, some thirty feet away. "I'm sorry..." Freyr sniffed, finally regaining some composure. "I just really wasn't expecting to talk about this right now."