“[color=lightblue]Mhm. Mhmm,[/color]” Follen muttered as she spoke. He did that often, nodding along, humming affirmative now and then, not obtrusively, but enough that she could tell he was engaged, listening. Sometimes he didn’t make any noise at all though, just conveyed his attention in his eyes, hardly affording himself a blink as though he might somehow miss something in that split moment. 

When she brought up the voice, he was silent as the void outside the station. 

It had clearly been of particular interest to him—and, he insisted, it ought to be to her as well. At first he had tried to be reassuring, telling her that connecting to a Modir, ‘[i]taunting the circuit[/i]’, could lead to some strange side effects. It was not the first instance he’d seen of a pilot hearing voices and feeling alien thoughts even after they’d left the cockpit.

But when she mentioned that voice had been with her in Hovvi, his explanations fell flat. Normally that might have been cause for alarm, but the sheer enthusiasm with which Follen approached that information, the way he made it seem like she had nothing to fear—it was almost like she [i]did[/i] have nothing to fear. 

As she described the voice following her into her dreams—her hesitation poignant enough that even she could tell he’d noticed—Follen’s pen halted, and he gave her his complete, undivided attention. 

“[color=lightblue]And what is it saying to you in your dreams?[/color]” he asked. “[color=lightblue]You used the word ‘[i]escape[/i]’. Do you feel as though it’s chasing you? Threating you? Does it seem to want something from you?[/color]”