Besca’s excitement waned when it became clear that Quinn wasn’t as thrilled by the news as she was, and before she got much of a chance to contemplate why, she was hit with a question that withered her mood instantly, and entirely. 

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

[i]How does she mean?[/i] was the first thought that came to mind, which was a guilty feeling. She ought to have wondered why, first, or considered how she must have felt to ask such a thing. Instead, Besca found herself wrestling with her conscience for a real answer. If she thought about it for a moment, put her own selfish self-pity aside, no, Quinn likely wouldn’t count Safie, and Ghaust, and Daz, and the rest of Hovvi as someone [i]she’d[/i] killed. Nor would she likely include the pilots before her. 

She carried those deaths all the same, but for this, she would carry them quietly. 

Instead, she addressed it how she imagined Quinn [i]actually[/i] intended. 

“[color=gray]Yes.[/color]” A hard lump had formed in her throat, and swallowing it took effort that almost choked her. “[color=gray]Four. I’ve killed four people. Three before you were even born. One the day Westwel fell.[/color]” 

Even saying it out loud felt…odd. Like she was drawing on someone else’s memories. She recalled them all through a haze, but at the same time they felt entirely, ineluctably real. Years of separation and callouses helped her to keep the pain from twisting her face, but it was still there, in her eye. 

She looked at Quinn, and felt again the unbearable weight of what she was being put through. The injustice. Why else would she ask that question? Why else would anyone ask it? 

“[color=gray]You’re afraid. You…you don’t know if you can do it, do you?[/color]”