Besca didn’t know why Quinn’s plans surprised her. The girl lived on a schedule, and stuck to her habits as often as was physically possible—healthy or not. So it should have been obvious that she’d want to go see the Tormont girl again today, and not, say, in a week when it would be most convenient and infinitely less upsetting. Part of her regretted that she hadn’t just acquiesced when Roaki asked to just get it over with. Quick, painless, she’d be cooling in the morgue out of sight, where she couldn’t affect Quinn anymore. It was the logical answer in some ways, the one that eschewed political responsibility for the sake of her family; the tough, but compassionate decision that would have taken time to be forgiven for, on all fronts, but at least she could have felt like it was worth it.

Of course, now that wasn’t the case. Now she had [i]other[/i] feelings. She had pity for people she wasn’t used to pitying, and guilt for having failed to pity them sooner. She would have liked to say that her hesitation stemmed solely from the way Quinn would have felt about her actions, but the reality now was that her own conscience wouldn’t stand for it either. 

So, she’d developed a moral compass. Great—it still pointed nowhere. She had no idea what to do. Sitting there, Besca’s mouth went dry, and she suddenly remembered how [i]bad[/i] she was at actually being someone’s family. It wasn’t a matter of being out of practice, either; sister, niece, cousin, daughter—especially daughter—she’d been shit at all of them. 

[i]Lie[/i]. That was instinct. Repugnant, but natural. She could pull it off, she could convince Quinn that Roaki was ill, or that there was some kind of test being run today, or [i]something[/i], and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind the girl wouldn’t believe her. But, a week would pass, and then inevitably they’d have that crushingly familiar conversation. Besca was a natural there, too, but there was something lost between people after a lie that stark. The idea of losing [i]anything[/i] between her and Quinn horrified her. 

Honesty was next, an only-recently acquired taste. Really, what made this any different from breaking the news about anything else? Quinn was as powerless here as she was when she’d become a pilot, when she’d been forced to link with the Modir that destroyed her home, forced to duel, to interview. What was this but another stone on the table? 

[i]Too many stones,[/i] she thought. [i]And the table’s a kid.[/i]

But what did that leave? She couldn’t lie, she couldn’t be honest, and she couldn’t just stay silent and hope she turned invisible. So what [i]could[/i] she do?

“[color=gray]That…sounds great, yeah.[/color]”

[i]Fucking. Idiot.[/i]

“[color=gray]As long as you’re feeling up to it, I mean. Don’t feel bad if you need to stay in, lie down a little more. God knows I needed to take it easy after my first hangover. I could square things with Follen if you wanted to take a raincheck today.[/color]”