He could sense that hatred in her again, coming to life like a freshly stoked fire. A certain relief gathered within him. That disgusted twist of her lips let him fall back into that glacial composure, a role he knew how to play. "The Doctor is a man of his word," he said. "I am, as well. Whether you deem that for good or ill is your own affair, but neither of us has deceived you. Or shall."

The frostbite he intended for his tone was not there. That annoyed him. Vayne did his best to dismiss that annoyance, glancing at the moon outside. "I am not a man who is easily, if ever contented...but you have pleased me. For tonight, at least." His eyes returned to hers. "You keep your word as well, Tifa. That is something we have in common."

Ah. There was the frostbite.

He turned on his heel, making for the door with a summary pace - paused as his hand fell to the handle. "Come to the dining hall, tomorrow at noontide. I will be waiting. Come rested." Despite himself, his face turned toward his shoulder, toward her. "Good night, Tifa."