Since Besca had met her, it seemed like each word Quinn uttered unnerved her more than the last. From the odd comments about her life, to the frantic pleas not to be left alone. Now this, with the doors. She had laid awake this morning, staring into the dark, contemplating the feeling of dread she’d felt in Follen’s office, slowly realizing that something was [i]horribly[/i] wrong with Quinn. The picture was still incomplete, but with every piece that fell into place, she doubted more and more that she wanted to see it done. 

It was too early for questions, Besca told herself. Prying now would only make things harder on her, and that was the last thing she needed, especially today. 

Quinn emerged from her room shortly, donned in clothes that struck Besca with a sense of nostalgia. 

“[color=FFE63D]Do I look okay?[/color]”

“[color=gray]You look great, hun,[/color]” Besca said, smiling. 

She left the stove on a low simmer, in case Dahlia woke up, and brought her own plate over to sit across from Quinn. She watched her eat, saw how she looked at once uncomfortable and content, and smiled. This was good. This was necessary. Sitting with her, eating together, Besca felt a wight slough off her shoulders. 

She let herself enjoy it for a few, precious minutes. 

“[color=gray]They want to do the test this afternoon,[/color]” she said. “[color=gray]So we’re in no rush. Take your time. I made sure I’ll be there through the whole thing, and after. When it’s done we’re gonna come right back here, and we can do whatever you want. Watch a movie, play some games—I’ve got a cookbook over there, you pick a recipe, and that’ll be dinner tonight. You can even help, if you want to.[/color]”