An alien warmth bubbled up from the depths of Quinn’s mind when she took Dahlia’s hand. She wasn’t alone in missing her sister’s company, and though what few memories of her dreams followed her to the waking world were consistently foggy and fleeting, there had been a concerted effort to bring Dahlia to the forefront. When they reached the kitchen and Quinn let go, the warmth shrunk and dissipated.

The food was done. Besca slid the last of the pancakes onto a third plate, tongue struck out between her lips as she focused on stacking the fluffy, golden discs on top of each other. The middle of each pile was dotted with dark spots, which, as she set the plates out on the countertop, Quinn would realize were actually blueberries. 

“[color=gray]Morning hun’,[/color]” Besca said. 

Deelie retrieved a couple bottles from the fridge. Short and fat, labeled plainly as “[i]Supplemental Beverage: Pilot[/i],” they were made by the RISC and shipped up regularly. According to Besca, most places kept their pilots on strict diets alongside their exercise routines, but that was mainly for the sake of appearances. Westwel had done it too, and meals were miserable. Blessedly, at RISC, so long as the pilots kept themselves physically fit, and followed their training schedules, the worst their dietary regulations got were these vitamin shakes. 

On a subprint beneath the label was the word: [i]“Vanilla”[/i], which, by now, Quinn could have determined to be more of an opinion than a flavor.

Dahlia didn’t even wait to eat. She cracked the top off hers and downed it all at once, face scrunching up before she tossed it in the trash, and got herself a glass of water. As she took a seat next to Quinn, she flipped on the TV. 

A small singularity was forming in Casoban. Following their pyrrhic victory against Helburke, they’d had to replace two pilots. [i]Enavant[/i] and [i]Spectre[/i] had fully regenerated, and now it seemed Casoban was taking the opportunity to show off. An attempt at showing they were perfectly independent, perhaps. 

The two Saviors stood in a field along seaside cliffs. In the far distance a town was so rife with people that the crowd was visible from miles away. A reporter in a corner sub-screen was rattling off the new pilots’ accomplishments in training, scrolling through photos like dogs at a show. Dahlia quickly lost interest, Besca continued to watch out of the corner of her eye. 

“[color=gray]Sleep well?[/color]” 

Dahlia nodded, already chewing a forkful of pancake. Besca knew better than that, even if she [i]was[/i] sleeping better now than recently. She still kept a strict leash on how much time the girl spent in sims, but there was more to her exhaustion than sleep deprivation.  

“[color=gray]How ‘bout you?[/color]” she asked, turning her eye to Quinn. She smiled—she made a point to. Quinn had done something drastic, and the consequences were going to be severe one way or another, but strangely she wasn’t [i]angry[/i]. She thought she would be, certainly, but no matter how long she thought about it, she couldn’t bring herself to hold what Quinn had done against her. More than that, she didn’t want Quinn to [i]think[/i] she did, either.