Isabelle watches Adriana go, a dozen questions still buzzing in her head: Whether she'd be okay. Why'd she choose this kind of challenge? What was she trying to prove? The steps needed to set up a factory - joint venture, but she'd have to oversight production. The drones were experimental, custom - any attempt to mass produce was, by nature, going to end with an inferior product. Even if it was still years ahead of the competition, even if it was still [i]good[/i].

[i]Don't close off your heart.[/i]

Isabelle's hand twitches. A memory resurfacing - one lost in all the bustle of preparation for the Gala, in the plans and in the battles. A ... question she'd had. An area she needed to learn more about.

There were habits of hers that would be hard to break. Ways of thinking that had been ingrained over decades. She still couldn't think about them taking prisoners, stealing cargo and ships, without feeling genuinely uncomfortable. Such acts were meant to never be justified. The antithesis of liberty and freedom. What the law was meant to stand to protect.

But ...

She'd spoken of family. The dossier had been silent. What more didn't she know? She at least owed it to herself to find out. 

The Gala was the opportunity. Every pilot was sure to be there. Including the outlaws. She just had to find her. 

After this dance.

She turns, looking at Mira of the Fisher Clan. Looking at the Whispered Promise. Wondering what she'll ask. Wondering what she sees.