Both the pilot and the woman recoiled at Quinn’s outburst, at first completely shocked and then, Roaki noticed with growing disdain, [i]ashamed[/i]. At first she thought it might be the shame of someone caught doing something they shouldn’t—no real remorse, only sorry that they were being scolded. And she could see that at first, especially in the pilot; that hate in her eyes, like Roaki had tried to steal something precious from her, never snuffed, only cooled to a simmer. But gradually she saw it shift into genuine guilt. They were [i]sorry[/i]. Roaki didn’t understand it, but she knew it right away, there was regret. 

Her own shame burned as Quinn pointed at her, talking about her like some wounded dog locked in their kennel. Perhaps not as far from the truth as she’d hope. 

At an order from her they both departed. The woman muttered an apology, the pilot looked about ready to cry, but nodded obediently and ran off. 

Who were these people that Quinn could order them around so soundly? The one she knew would be [i]Dragon[/i]’s pilot, though in reality she seemed so much more pitiful than expected. The older woman, she had no idea. She’d been at the [i]Henkersmahl[/i], but everyone had looked at her like she was someone important. Brass, maybe? But why on earth would she bend so easily to Quinn’s will? What sort of hold did she have over them?

Come to think of it, the Quinn standing before her now, angry and as cold as the air around them, was nothing at all like the frightened child from Casoban. Sure, she’d snapped at her, but everyone did that when their loved ones were threatened—that was the whole point. This was different. 

Maybe the girl was more savage than she seemed. She might not have [i]killed[/i] Roaki, but was this fate any better? She thought about the duel, about waking up to the sight of her leg submerged in modium, and the slow agony of the growths sprouting from her marrow. No. No, it wasn’t any better. It was so, so much worse.

And now, what? Why come here—to gloat? To draw out her torture as much as possible. Perhaps her fear of Quinn wasn’t so ridiculous after all. 

“[color=ec008c]I’m n-not…going.[/color]” She hated the brittleness of her own voice. Hated how the quiet made her sound like a glass doll. “[color=ec008c]T-this is…where I…belong…[/color]”

Her hand curled into a fist, slammed against the metal. Just bringing her eyes up to Quinn felt like a feat of strength. Why was it so hard to [i]look[/i] at her? 

“[color=ec008c]S-should have k-killed me. Dead…a-anyway. Just l-leave me alone. Let me…die,[/color]” she muttered, shivering down to a whisper. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t scream. “[color=ec008c]D-don’t take…anything else…[/color]”