The presence that haunted Quinn faded, satisfied, confused, and soon she was left with silence. [color=black]Quinnlash[/color] didn’t have any answers for her, it seemed, or at least none she thought would help the situation. It was clear enough where she stood with regards to the Loughveins. If an article was posted tomorrow revealing their bodies had been found, there would be a party in the dream that night. 

The last, lingering thought left in her wake was the word she so often used whenever they weaseled their way into conversation: [color=black]Takers.[/color]

The quiet didn’t last long. From Quinn’s room there came a raucous thump, a muted, mumbled alarm, and then the hurrying of footsteps. A moment later, Dahlia came bursting through the door. 

“[color=skyblue]Quinn?![/color]” she yelped, eyes wide and heavy with bags. They locked unsteadily onto her, and with steps just as shaky she scrambled over. “[color=skyblue]What is it? What happened?[/color]” Her hands pulled Quinn’s face up, inspecting it, patting down her arms, searching wildly for some sign of injury. “[color=skyblue]Are you okay? Are you hurt?[/color]”

She wasn’t, not that Dahlia could see, but that didn’t settle her any. She spied the phone discarded on the ground, but didn’t bother with it. The room looked fine, no damage anywhere. No alarms blared. No attack. Still the worry stuck with her, and she looked to Quinn expectantly.