Besca let Quinn swerve the topic of her dream. There were a lot of things she still didn’t fully understand about the girl, like what went on in that head of hers when she laid down at night. Most people, especially so early on into their piloting careers, were utterly wrecked with nightmares. Some managed to string out their honeymoon phases longer than others, but usually after they’d squared off against the Modir a few times, they began to dread shutting their eyes at the end of the day.

Yet Quinn, who by every account ought to have been entirely unable to sleep for the amount of terror Besca expected her to face at night, sleep soundly and, apparently, pleasantly. She thought about the ‘[i]Little Her[/i]’ Quinn had told them about. The thing that came curiously to her in her dreams. Whatever it was, it was undeniably tied to the Circuit—it had to be—which meant that no matter how it presented itself, it was dangerous. But for now there was nothing to be done but to keep her monitored just like they did any other pilot, and thus far she was, diagnostically-speaking, fine.

Things were picking up on the TV. A countdown was displayed at the top of the screen, presumably for when the singularity would open. Besca knew better; the only people with the instruments to most accurately predict it were the analysts in the CSC. Nevertheless, as the clock ticked down, the two newcomers made their way to their Saviors with raucous fanfare. On their way, the broadcaster pulled up a familiar face: a picture of Lucis Abroix. It seemed they were holding some sort of memorial for him. 

Besca grimaced and went back to her own meal, nearly finished, and returned her attention to Quinn. “[color=gray]So what’s on your agenda for the day, hun?[/color]”