“[color=FFE63D]...never mind. I'm...I'm okay.[/color]”

Besca couldn’t stop thinking about those words, how Quinn had said them. She’d sounded like a kid telling their first lie, trying to figure out how words were supposed to sound when you didn’t mean them. She wasn’t okay. A glass smile and breakfast weren’t going to change that, and right now there probably wasn’t anything that could. 

Before either of them knew it, it was time. 

She didn’t want to take her. It was awful enough seeing people like Ghaust and Safie, adults, climb into those monsters and put their bodies and minds at risk. Every time Dahlia suited up, Besca still felt her heart sink. She didn’t know what she’d feel when Quinn vanished into the cockpit. It wouldn’t be good. 

The elevator across from the dorms was spacious, big enough to have fit a pilot from every room. With just the two of them it felt empty, quiet. It moved fast, they reached the station’s belly in well under a minute. 

The doors opened to another hall, with a door to one side reading: [i]PREP[/i], another reading: [i]DECK[/i] and the middle path, which carried on a ways until it hit a third door. [i]HANGAR[/i].

Besca led Quinn to the Prep room. It was about the same size as the elevator, but with a row of large lockets bisecting one. One was open, revealing a hook holding what looked like a slim, dark diving skin, rife with circular plugs and nodules along the spine, cuffs, and ankles. Behind it was a much heavier, baggier jumpsuit with an array of pouches fashioned into it. Along the inner face of the high collar were vents, and a thick, leathery gorget sealed it off from the rest of the interior. A pair of boots lay at the bottom, alongside a set of gloves. All of it seemed perfectly sized for Quinn. 

“[color=gray]Go ahead and swap into that. You can leave your clothes in the locker, we'll come get them when you're done.[/color]” She made her way out, remembering to keep the door propped—slightly. “[color=gray]I’m gonna go check some stuff, meet me right out there in the hangar as soon as you’re done, okay hun?[/color]”

She didn’t particularly want to leave Quinn alone, but it would be brief, and she’d only be down the hall. Still, she had to force herself at a brisk pace or she’d have slow-walked until the girl caught up to her. So, out she went, into the hangar. 

It had been a week since she’d stepped foot in here, perhaps a bit less. She’d come when they’d retrieved [i]Grauritter[/i] and [i]Jubilee[/i], just to see. Just in case. But that was what confused her, now. Saviors regenerated fast, usually, but heavier wounds, especially ones that were fatal to the pilots, often took much longer. [i]Grauritter[/i] had been torn to pieces, and [i]Jubilee[/i] had needed to regrown itself entirely from the neck down. A week wasn’t long enough for either.

They weren’t planning on connecting her to a Savior that was still missing its limbs, or organs, were they? No. Quinn would connect and feel like she was being ripped apart, it would be torture. 

She needed answers. 

What she got was Follen. He stood with a cluster of engineers, analysts, a few other members of the medical team. No wonder he was here—he’d spearheaded the whole thing, of course he was here. She marched over and summoned up just enough self-control not to grab his shoulder and whirl him around. 

“[color=gray]Follen,[/color]” she snapped, and he turned. “[color=gray]What’s going on? There’s no way either of our Saviors are ready for connection, so what are we doing? I swear to god, if you’re planning to hook her up to one of them half-healed, I’ll—[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]God no, commander, that would be abhorrently inhumane. No one here wants to see miss Loughvein hurt.[/color]”

She grimaced, ignored his saccharine grin. “[color=gray]Then what’s the deal? What are we doing here?[/color]”

Follen gave her an odd look, something like genuine emotion flickered in his eyes. Confusion—and then, amusement. “[color=lightblue]Commander you have been so busy, I suppose it’s no surprise you missed the memo.[/color]”

“[color=gray]Enough, Follen. What—[/color]”

He nodded behind her, and as she followed his gaze around she saw it. Her breath caught in her throat, her words died in her mouth. 

There, sat against the wall in a housing chamber, was the Modir that had come out of the lake. The one that had destroyed the elevator. The one that had killed Safie.

[sub]“[color=gray]Oh god...[/color]”[/sub]