How did one respond to being told that an entity which might, or might not, exist within the head of your sister liked you? Concern? Disgust? Perhaps a bit healthy dose of alien confusion? There didn’t seem to be a strictly correct answer, but for her part, Dahlia thought it was…cute. She wasn’t a doctor, and the Conduit effects she’d suffered had never drifted so far into the psychosphere, but it [i]did[/i] sound harmless to her. The idea of Quinn having someone in her head to talk to seemed comforting. 

She was intrigued, and could very well have listened to stories of these dream conversations all day. But then, with all the abrupt panic of a car accident, the topic changed. 

To the Helburkan. 

Dahlia couldn’t help the flash of bitterness within her—didn’t particularly [i]want[/i] to help it. Her side stung from the rib implants, her two mechanical fingers were slow, still in their calibration phase. In the years since her only growth outbreak, she had begun to hope against hope that she’d avoid all that again. 

[i][color=skyblue]Stop. You were keeping your promise.[/color][/i]

“[color=skyblue]She’s alive,[/color]” Dahlia said. She knew she should say more, but she just…struggled to keep the edge out of her voice. 

Besca, saint that she was, picked the ball up. “[color=gray]Helburke decided to, uh, cut their losses. They were gone by the time we got you back to camp. Follen did what he could on the ground, but we ended up bringing her with us to handle the rest.[/color]” She nodded, but seemed uncertain of what to say—or perhaps just [i]how[/i] to say it. “[color=gray]There’s been some…developments. She’s still here. She’s in holding.[/color]”