That the life of a marine was dangerous was not something new to her. Despite the courage required to join the armed services they were labeled as 'crazy' and 'unhinged' by the elites who had no illusions about why they joined in the first place. Were the volunteers not criminals trying to expunge their records and earn new identities such stereotypes might not prevail. This made it easier for the highborn to justify why they were thrown in hazards with little thought as to bodily harm; after all, they were violent offenders more often than not and any violence visited on them was undoubtedly earned in their past.

But Rene was blessedly different. The murder accusation against him was false and thus he was one of the rare innocents thrust into a merciless situation he did not deserve. Humble and heroic he would have made a fine poster child for positive public relations had there not been evidence damning him (false though it might be). If she were in charge of such press releases she would have made it her life's goal to clear his name and plaster his face on every piece of propaganda so that marines were not so callously judged. Hell, if she survived this war she might very well politically maneuver herself to do just that. Who could or would stop her? No duke or duchess was tripping over themselves to aligned with the mercenaries employed by the empire.

Seeing him injured made her heart ache more than the Gids that had sought to capture her or the slavers that were ready to pillage Amber Horizon. He was not depraved or without morals. Perhaps it was because someone so virtuous survived that until today she had been able to shrug off the deaths of others more easily. They were flawed, arrogant, selfish, corrupt, and embodiments of sins that the Stellar Empire would swear its citizens would not indulge. Now that even Rene, gleaming as he seemed to her, was vulnerable she felt panic rise in her throat with bile. Nothing and no one was safe.

"I care for you too," she said quietly. "I'm just... today we almost lost," Solae remarked somberly. In the back of her mind Solae had always rationally known that they could fail and that either one of them could die- or worse. It was not until she had been pinned to the ground, screaming, that the reality of this she felt the impact of the realization so acutely.

"Even if you would have done it for someone else, I can't ignore that today that 'someone' was me. My mother must be rolling in her grave to hear me say this," she added, hoping her morbidity would inject humor into the serious confessions they were making, "but to know others are wounded or dead so that fate or purpose might allow me to live... it's haunting. It's not very noble of me to say that, is it? Perhaps I ought to have joined the marines as well," she jested. Both of them knew she wouldn't last a week if she had.

"I don't feel special," she sighed. "The Syshin deserve more and I am embarrassed it took me so long to come here, and that others refuse to see it. In our grand mansions I can't help but wonder if we're isolating ourselves as we hide from worse things than cutthroat politics. Even with the bounty on my head I am not all that worse off than a female Syshin on an average day."

Her eyes roamed around before landing back on the untouched bowl. It would be rude to reject the offered meal but her mouth was still dry. No matter how she tried to convince herself she needed to eat she could not find the willpower to do so. "I'm glad you didn't die gloriously on the fields of battle, Rene. Truly glad."

Without their noticing Lasha had sidled up and now stood over her patients. Disapproval was etched on her features as she crossed her arms in an unnatural way to make certain her displeasure was even more obvious. The healer cleared her throat so as to gain the attention of both humans. "Eat. Eat and retire. If you can not eat here, take your food to your rooms. You can not heal without food," she firmly asserted as she motioned towards the assorted vittles.