She set her jaw behind her wide collar, but focused on finishing her food rather than retorting. Her stomach twisted coldly at the lack of denial—she was actually unhappy to be right for once—and when she spoke again, staring flatly at the photograph, her voice was even more carefully emotionless than ever before, which was an accomplishment of sorts.

"The target is both darkly colored and compact, which maximizes her chances of evasion during the nighttime, and minimizes any chance of retrieval during that timeframe." Her words were clipped and clinical, but after a moment of tense indecision, a bit of her personality slipped back in. "Also...Micchan likes to curl up in tight spaces to sleep, so it would be even more difficult to get her back then."

Correction: their runaway was a cat that Ami knew.

After a bit of foot shuffling, she looked at the ground and quietly admitted, "Micchan sometimes eats with the other cats—strays—that I put food out for. So...she might show up at my house around mid-afternoon. Prob—" She bit her lip, drawing her shoulders in at the memory of his scorn the last time she used that word. "...it's...a promising lead. If she shows up, we can pick her up and deliver her, and be done for the day."

And she wouldn't have to spend another awkward mealtime with her instructor, promises and equivalency be damned.