A huff escaped Camille when Loughvein called her [i]Captain[/i]. Uniformity and discipline were not the virtues of most pilots; the twins hadn’t been keen on the idea themselves at first, until she had Toussaint’s authority behind her. She had expected similar resistance from Loughvein. Was RISC’s program stricter than she’d come to believe from Abroix’s reports. Or perhaps this was just an act of sarcastic defiance.

No, from her answer, Camille could tell it was something worse. It was fear. Troublesome. Respect was integral to keeping order in the unit, and in turn, keeping the unit alive. [i]Fear[/i], on the other hand, did nothing. Less than nothing. It made people give half-answers to questions they were more concerned about answering correctly than honestly. 

She had been told more than once that she was an intimidating woman. Fair enough. But looking into Loughvein’s eye, Camille saw fear that spread further than this one room, this singular moment. 

She sighed. “[color=a187be]Your dishonesty does no one any good. They’re hopeless. All these hours today but I’m sure you realized in the first five minutes that neither of them has any business being a pilot. They would have better served Casoban on the stage or in the gallery. It would certainly be safer.[/color]

“[color=a187be]Familial pilots are rare outside of Helburke. Not just for their literal rarity, but because everywhere else it’s caused nothing but problems,[/color]” she stepped closer, but made an active effort to soften her voice. “[color=a187be]Do you believe passion is enough to make a pilot? This time, answer like you’re talking to a mirror.[/color]”