Ruka has a lot on her plate. She has, for that matter, a lot of plates: she's buried herself in concerns about Jeopardy, following the news on the new Elixer release and whatever nightmare that's going to be, on community-building events at the Web Mistress's Church, on the vibe in town from the people who work at the Nuclear Plant, at what she's gleaned from Kanaya's observations and her own suspicions; she's worried about Yusei, as impassible the obstacle of a single block seems to be to her; she's worried about Kanaya, and Cassandra, and the work they're doing; she's worried about the other Cassandra, and Jaime, and the stress of their League and all that goes with it. She's worried about Jaime for a million other things besides.

She was worried about what was going on, and what was going to happen, and was doing her best to keep her attention on those things. Keep herself focused on the world that existed around her, and how she could help preserve it — as ever, trying to keep herself from falling too quickly into maudlin thoughts about the past. If she kept herself facing forward, then she could ignore the monuments built of her regrets in the weeks, months, and years behind her.

With her attention turned this way, the chime of her communicator for a new message did not seem to hail anything monumental. With Maxwell gone, her inbox mostly alternated between messages from Khaji Da and from Jaime; so rare are interruptions in that chain that Ruka did not usually check who the message was from before opening it. It was only when the message didn't make sense that she glanced at the sender, and promptly fumbled and dropped her communicator to the floor. She dropped herself out of her computer chair in pursuit, knocking it back in graceless speed, snatching up the communicator with a familiar tremor. Without thought for what this meant or what to say, Ruka hit call.

Even with the long seconds to wait while the signal connected, all she could manage was simple, and strained:

"Rua? Rua, is that you?"