While muttering her excuse, she can see the familiar red tint with which the memory settles on top of the present. The plaque reads... nonsense. Not even names, just nonsense ...that will look like a dedication when corroded, she thinks, as if someone had it become corroded before they put it here. Looking up, she tries to see who put it there-

and more feels than sees something in the corners of her vision. She whirls around, losing the memory, trying to follow the direction of the sense that someone is attempting to hide, the man at her side almost forgotten.