But just as quickly, Quinn remembered her dream, and the thrum died to a distant hum. Still there, but muted, dulled. She looked at the data. She—she really could win this. She [i]could[/i]. She could win, and go home to the Aerie, and go back to eating at Tohoki Grill and sparring with Deelie, exploring the station, talking to Doctor Follen. It was everything that everyone wanted.

So why didn't she feel better?

"[color=FFE63D]Hey, um, Besca,[/color]" she started, surprising herself by how level and modulated her voice was. A pain beat through her, short but sharp. She wanted so much, so badly, to call her something else. But every time she tried, the word stuck in her throat, then died there.

She stopped. She didn't even know what to ask, not really. [i]Am I doing the right thing?[/i] It didn't matter, did it? She had to do it anyway. [i]Do I really need to do this?[/i] Stupid question. The answer was obviously yes. That ship had sailed a week ago now. Once the gears had been set into motion there was no stopping them. And it was the [i]day of[/i]. [i]Why did this have to happen?[/i] Self-pity would only hurt her. It had no place today.

So, thoughts tangled, she opened her mouth again. Closed it again. Thought. She wanted to ask something. She did. She just didn't know what. Her thoughts were disorganized, jumbled about. Not panicked, but certainly not the epitome of health either. But eventually, she settled on a question that she'd had for the last week, both of Besca and Dahlia. She hadn't asked either. But this was about the last chance she'd get, wasn't it? Before she needed to deal with it for herself.

So she asked.

"[color=FFE63D]...Have you ever killed someone?[/color]"