The more Quinn said, the less Dahlia understood. She seemed outright delirious, and had Follen not made absolutely certain that she wasn’t suffering from modium poisoning, she might have worried there was a growth in her head, screwing with her mind. Could it have been the Circuit? But Follen handled her psych evals too, he would have caught something so severe. 

A million reasons to believe Quinn was unwell, but nothing to prove it. How could any of this possibly be real? She looked to Besca, who still hadn’t budged. 

“[color=gray]When the swordsman attacked, it…someone—[i]something[/i] joined the comms. I barely heard anything before my line got cut, but…[/color]” she shook her head like even [i]she[/i] couldn’t believe what she was saying. “[color=gray]It spoke. I don’t know how much more it said, and that whole record after [i]Blotklau[/i] went down was corrupted, but she’s not confused. I think the swordsman really did speak.[/color]”

Dahlia reeled. Had she not been holding onto the bedside, she might have stumbled over. So they had both heard it. It was real. 

A Modir was [i]hunting[/i] Quinnlash. 

If that was true, and it really had come to Hovvi for her…

Something stirred in the abneath between Dahlia’s flesh and her soul. It was dark, and it knew its own strength, and it was vengeful for the lives of her father, and her friends, and every last person who had burned with her home. It was hands pressing on her head, yearning to be whole. Unequivocally, unrepentantly, it learned that it [i]hated[/i] Quinnlash Loughvein. It hated her more than it hated Helburke, or the Modir, or her own hellish existence living each day at the edge of a bottomless abyss. It would never forgive her as long as she was alive to remain unforgiven.

But it was not Dahlia. 

It hated Quinn, but Dahlia loved her more. 

“[color=skyblue]I don’t care,[/color]” she said. She wanted to reach out, to touch her, but, god, Quinn seemed so afraid. Too much to even look at her. So she sat back against the bed. “[color=skyblue]I don’t care, Quinn. I hate…I hate what it did. I hate that it’s hunting you. I don’t…hate [i]you[/i]. Quinn…[/color]” and she paused, and she thought. She remembered her promise to never lie to her sister. “[color=skyblue]I could never hate you. Never.[/color]”

“[color=gray]Me neither, kiddo,[/color]” Besca said. A hand ran down Quinn’s hair, into her braid. “[color=gray]I might not…really understand what’s going on yet, but what’s clear right now is that you need us. And we’re your family, right? So that means we’re there for you. Period. End of story.[/color]”


Besca pulled her back, knelt down and, as she had done before, wiped Quinn’s cheek dry. Smiled. But there was a questioning look in her eye, too, and in her heart Quinn might have known exactly what she was going to ask before she ever asked it. 

“[color=gray]But…[i]who[/i] told you it was hunting you?[/color]”