Camille had arrived first, bursting through Quinn’s door with rapier in hand. The twins followed, heads poking in, curious, concerned. The captain sent Sybil to let security down, and the two or three dozen soldiers set about clearing the floor. 

When it was done, Toussaint came down to apologize. He said there had been some kind of flicker in the dorm’s power grid, coinciding with the passing of a nearby satellite, which during the flux had managed to accidentally cross its broadcast over the floor’s PA systems. Everything was fine now, he assured, and emphasized how there had been no danger, and that nothing important had been compromised and no danger had been posed. Just an odd little accident, and a—literal—cosmic coincidence. 

That satisfied the twins, who regarded Quinn with a mixture of pity and concern, but left when the captain dismissed them. Camille was the last to go, and she did so quietly, casting only a silent look of mild disgust over her shoulder before Quinn’s door shut behind her. 

Toussaint, for his part, raced to the bridge faster than he had moved in a good few years. When he reached the circular room at the Ange’s crown, he was red-faced and barely composed enough to keep from wheezing. 

“Well?” he barked to the tables of analysts who ought to have been able to prevent anything [i]remotely[/i] like tonight from happening. “I want to know who the fuck cracked our comms systems. [i]Now[/i].”

“We’re running a trace on the signal, commander.”

“Have you recovered the feed from the pilots’ hall?” He was answered with guilty silence, and his fists balled. “So we were hacked, possibly infiltrated, and you’re telling me we have [i]nothing[/i]?”

“There [i]was[/i] nothing, sir. The unauthorized message was triggered but sensors didn’t pick anything up. No life forms on that floor that weren’t the pilots.”

“So I’m to believe amidst this shit storm, [i]that[/i] alone happened to be a coincidence? No. I’m giving Internal Security limited access to the dorms, and I want our camera feed’s contingencies to have contingencies. It’s bad enough someone spoke to our pilots, but god help me no one is touching them.” 

He took a deep breath. Then another. The Ange’s doctors had warned him about stress, too bad his occupation didn’t care much for medical opinions. 

“Get me that trace,” he snapped, and whirled for the door to his office. “I have to make a call.”

[hr]
When next Quinn did sleep, and the blackness of the lake formed around her, it was [i]off[/i]. Not in the typical way where the water was too dark, and the sky was poorly constructed, and the moon’s reflection didn’t always ripple when it ought to have. Rather, it looked hasty, haphazard. It had been thrown together at the last moment as if her familiar host did not expect her, or had not properly prepared. 

There were gaps in the lake, like it had been sketched in with a pen thinning on ink. Water sloshed across these gaps, which were themselves nigh imperceptible, lacking in color and blankness alike, yet despite the innumerable holes the levels did not sink. The boat was similarly lacking, and though water splashed across the floor, it did not sink either. 

Ashore, the town of Hovvi was a mass of blocky scribbles smeared into the dark, rocky landscape. Above, the stars were holes poked into the sky, and the moon looked flat, like it a sticker pasted onto a ceiling. Tonight, it had no reflection. 

The two shadows swimming out to the buoy were pristine, though. Perfect as they were every night. They pulled themselves onto its muddled form and chatted away, unbothered, while the boat rocked gently in silence. 

Quinn wasn’t given much time to ponder her surroundings, though, before a shape slammed into her. At first, it looked like nothing more than a shadow, until, slowly and as imperceptibly as the faults in the lake, it seemed to remember itself. [color=black]She[/color] took form, arms wrapped around Quinn’s waist, and stared up into the eye of her older self. There was fear, and worry, and blossoming relief on her face. 

“[color=black]We’re still here![/color]” she said, surprised. “[color=black]You can still dream. You’re okay! It’s okay…[/color]”

Her head rested against Quinn’s stomach for a moment, until she finally pulled herself away. Her face screwed up with frustration then, and she cast her eyes down to the shallow water in the boat. Slowly, it began to drain, and the boards knitted themselves tightly together. 

“[color=black]Fear. Look what it’s done to us. How it hurts us. Our mind. We’re still scared.[/color]”