[ By the time Prompto gets to the kitchen, Aranea is halfway done the sandwich. The locust sauce plus the mayo seems positively unappealing to her, but she spreads it out across the bread regardless, before moving on to ensuring the pickles are indeed sliced. A few other things are gathered on the countertop, ostensibly to go into the little makeshift lunch she's preparing: a juicebox, an apple, some cookies. Who knows when the girl will have a chance to eat after she's dropped off into the safehouse?

It's not easy to calmly prepare a child's lunch while the bodies of her dead parents lie a few feet away. Aranea bites back any nausea she feels with the efficiency of a practiced professional and keeps at it regardless. ]

Fine. [ Her tone is a bit brusque, a bit too professional. ] We'll check it out and then we'll drop her off.

[ Sandwich finished, she wraps it snugly in saran and then starts to go through the cupboards for a lunch bag of some sort. ]

Once we're out of the building, it'll be dicey. [ The flashing of lights from the streets below shines in through the tall windows and bleaches out the wall in a rather macabre fashion. ] We should probably have a contingency plan in place.