“[color=gray]Quinn? Quinn, hey? Hun, you there? Comms, hey, you, check the—why can’t she hear me? Quinn? [i]Quinnlash[/i][/color]”

Besca’s tablet erupted with flashing lights and frantic beeping. She tossed it aside. Something was wrong. This was done. Enough. “[color=gray]Get her out! Now! Get her out![/color]”

“[color=lightblue]She hasn’t phased yet. Take her out and we’ll have to put her right back in.[/color]” 

“[color=gray]We’re not putting her in [i]ever[/i] you [i]fuck[/i]! Do you hear me? [i]Ever![/i][/color]”

“[color=lightblue]Then she goes home![/color]” Follen said, and there was almost a sharp edge to his voice. Almost. “[color=lightblue]Then she goes home,[/color]” he said, calmer. “[color=lightblue]And everything you’re afraid of, everything you [i]think[/i] that means. It does. And more. And so much worse. Leave her in, Besca. Or let her go.[/color]”

Every muscle in her face strained not to twist into fury, or devastation. Her throat clenched not to scream. She tapped her earpiece again, desperate. 

“[color=gray]Quinn! Quinn![/color]”

[color=black]Quinnlash[/color]

[color=black]Buried name[/color]

[color=black]What more can they take? How much more will we [i]let[/i] them take?[/color]

It felt wrong. This power, this being, it felt so wrong and inhuman. She knew, sitting there—sitting where? Which seat was hers, really, the chair or the wall?—it was told to her in the static that she was [i]loaned[/i] this. Strange things, shared. Evolution, parsed and priced, offered and imposed. She would not take so greedily, so freely, and be ignored. Great eyes, invisible eyes saw her, Quinnlish, [color=black]I am seen[/color] and [color=black]I[/color] find their gazes repulsive. 

[color=black]Hate them Quinnlash[/color]

[color=black]It’s what they deserve[/color]

And it was, wasn’t it? Her home, all of it, gone. Burned. [color=black]Buried[/color] they [color=black]buried[/color] it all of them. For what? She knew what, she’d been told that as well. She’d been told, and [color=black]it doesn’t matter why.[/color] Do you hear, [color=black]Quinnlash? It doesn’t matter. Their reasons. Their wants. They are monsters. They are vermin. They are [i]weakness[/i] and they would take from [i]us[/i].[/color]

[color=black]Hate them, Quinnlash[/color]

[color=skyblue]Quinn[/color][color=black]lash[/color]

[color=skyblue]Quinn[/color]

“[color=skyblue]—my voice.[/color]” like a knife piercing the static. A hand reaching down into the water. “[color=skyblue]Listen to my voice.[/color]”

[i][color=skyblue]Especially in the dark.[/color][/i]

Dahlia’s voice filled Quinn’s ears. Filled her mind. Everything quieted, the static, the thrumming, the voice. All of it was gone. It was as quiet as the dorm. They were as close as they had been, collapsed onto the floor. 

“[color=skyblue]I’m with you. I’m here. Listen to me. It’s like we’re in a tunnel, isn’t it? Do you see the end? Take my hand, pretend for me. Take my hand, we’ll get there together.[/color]”

Below, the beeping stopped. The monitors settled. Dahlia stood beside Besca, the woman’s comm piece in her ear. She stood at the base of the Savior, looking up, into Quinn’s eyes. She smiled. It was thin, and as fragile as the one Quinn had worn that morning. But it was there. Still there. 

“[color=skyblue]Let’s go, Quinn. Almost done.[/color]”