The waiter came back with their drinks while Quinn talked. Dahlia listened, clinking the ice around absently in her glass. She thought about Dragon, and how strange it had been to draw her out own weapon the first time. 

“[color=skyblue]Yeah, I feel ya. I mean, we connect our [i]brains[/i] with the Saviors, but the weapons are supposed to be us, right? So it feels like a big deal. Don’t worry tho’, I’m sure whatever you end up pulling out will be [i]super[/i] cool![/color]”

Quinn mentioned Follen next, and Dahlia couldn’t help but feel a slight unease. She’d always enjoyed the doctor’s company, and he’d never been anything less than nice to her as long as she’d been at RISC. She trusted him with her medical care, her psychological care, and so far he’d never given her a reason not to. But when she’d heard that he’d been the one to sign Quinn on as a pilot—to perform the surgery before she was even awake no less—it…didn’t settle right with her. 

She’d never given much credence to the things Besca said about him, and over time the vicious warnings dried up. Until a month ago though, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of [i]entering a room[/i] without permission. Now she wasn’t so sure. 

Then again, her own evaluation had gone perfectly fine. She was probably just overthinking it; he’d say she was searching for answers to statements, not questions. 

“[color=skyblue]Sounds good to me![/color]” she said. “[color=skyblue]I’ll run a sim or two while you’re off, then I’ll meet you back at the gym.[/color]” 

The food came soon after, and Dahlia felt her hunger’s dying roar as the waiter set their plates down. Sweet, floral smells, the fishy twinge of Quinn’s salmon. Hot soup on the side. [i][color=skyblue]Yes,[/color][/i] Dahlia thought. [i][color=skyblue]Quinn makes very, very good choices.[/color][/i]