And just like that the word-well ran dry. That was okay, Quinn’s had, too. 

Besca held on silently, raking sharp nails through her brain to think of something, [i]anything[/i] to say that might make this better, or at least just a little more manageable for the girl. Perhaps she’d never lost anyone before. That was fairly uncommon these days, but for a place like Hovvi—a small town that was the same each morning as it was each night—maybe it wasn’t so strange. 

In a way she wished she could as open as this. Losing pilots hurt every time, and she’d let herself fall into a comfortable lull with Dahlia and the others. Losing Ghaust was like losing someone you respected, someone who valued the way they lived their life, and what they lived it by, rather than how long they lived it. Losing Safie had been like losing a little sister; unprecedented, unshakable optimism, gone in the flick of a candle. 

It hurt, it hurt a [i]lot[/i], but Besca hadn’t cried since Westwel. It was a guilty feeling. They deserved more than she could feel anymore. For only having known Safie a short time, it seemed to her that Quinn hurt enough for both of them. Strange, but not—

She paused as her fingers brushed something on the back of Quinn’s neck. Hard. Cold. Her brow furrowed, she traced it with her fingers. A circle, small, metallic—not one, but a series. They ran down her back, on her spine. 

Her eyes widened. 

Besca let go for a moment, pulled Quinn’s chart from the end of the bed and scanned it. Pain killers. Supplements. Antihistamines. Neuromarkers. Page, flip. Immunosuppressants? Tech salves? [i]Modioscory[/i]. Oh god, an entire post-op’s worth of [i]Modioscory.[/i]

Follen. 

“[color=gray]Quinn, hun,[/color]” she said. It took effort to keep her voice steady, but she managed. “[color=gray]Listen, you’re gonna…you might feel something on your back. Some little dots, little plugs? Those aren’t—they’re not bad, they’re not gonna hurt you. Someone made a mistake, put’em on you by accident. Easy fix, don’t even worry about. I’m gonna set it right myself, okay?[/color]”

She hadn’t noticed—[i]how[/i] hadn’t she noticed? Follen had been assigned to her, that rat [i]fuck[/i], and she hadn’t noticed. Besca’s signature had been waived, he’d moved before she’d even been approved for interim-commander. 

He wanted to make her a fucking [i]pilot[/i]. 

Besca might have stormed out right then to drag that fucker out of his office and throw him into the airlock. But, looking back to Quinn, she remembered she’d just made a promise. An impasse, then. This couldn’t wait, every second that passed would make it harder to undo. And she had to undo this. [i]Now.[/i]

“[color=gray]Hey, actually, do you want to take a walk with me? You’ve been laying down for days now, it’s…probably for the best if we get you moving. Just a bit, just down the hall and back, real quick while I take care of something. You’ll be with me the whole time. Sound good?[/color]”