[Nunnally stands there silently, hair billowing in an invisible wind--maybe Lelouch can feel it, maybe he can hear that it's not a wind, but a cacophony of screams.
The reflection holds the gun on her, a challenge, a warning. Nunnally doesn't back down. She never even bothers to look in his direction. Her eyes remain on Lelouch.
She finally looks away, down, staring at something at her feet. She kneels, lifting it up and suddenly she is no longer the Nunnally he spoke to only that morning. She is younger, much younger--the child he knew, the child who never lost a thing.
But what he also might notice is what she is holding in her hand. A familiar small, but long device.