It would have been hard to tell for Quinn exactly when she’d fallen asleep. With the line having blurred before, it seemed once again that she’d slipped through the veil without noticing. 

Much like it had been on the lake, things were off, here. She was alone again, and, again, her body was not her own. It moved of its own accord, against her thoughts, against her will, and sat up in the bed of Safie’s room. She wore the jacket, though it was too big for her, and had made a comfortable nest for herself amidst the blankets. 

Making her way out into the common room, she could see through the virtual windows that it was morning. Though last night the images had seemed artificial, now they looked so much more real. The sunlight felt warm on her skin, and there was a pleasant breeze. 

Outside, far, far below, but much closer than it ought to have been from Aerie’s height, the sun rose over the smoldering ruins of Hovvi. 

[color=black]Never[/color]

Quinn stepped away, moved past the other rooms, all open and empty, and left the dormitory. 

[color=black]Never[/color]

In the cramped hallway it was cold, and the lights were low. The other door, the one to the [i]hangar[/i] was gone, just a flat wall. Mist spilled over her feet. 

[color=black]Quinnlash[/color]

Away from her, the hallway changed. The floor, the ceiling, everything there faded away into a flat void, an open and endless and comforting expanse. Standing in the dark, illuminated by nothing and yet entirely, perfectly visible, was a single deer. Its fur was snowy, its head entirely bare of flesh, left a cracked and dusty skull, but it was not dead. It looked at her, its antlers tall and sprawling and so, so beautiful. 

It looked at her. 

It saw [color=black]you[/color].

[color=black]Never again[/color].

And then everything fell away, and only the dark remained.

[hr][hr]
When she woke up, Quinn would find herself in Safie’s bed, covers pulled over her, pillow under her head. Dahlia lay on the other side, back to her, still clutching the jacket. Her shoulders rose and fell softly in sleep. Down the back of her neck were the same set of plugs Quinn could assume now ran down her own. 

A small clock on the bedside table alleged morning, but in space it was so hard to tell. 

The door was cracked, and through it wafted the smells of breakfast. Coffee, eggs, and on her ears danced the arhythmic sizzles of bacon. And a gentle humming.