Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

“Yeah. Yeah, you did great, Quinn.”

Dahlia hefted Quinn up to her feet, helped her stand, but kept an arm around her so the girl could lean as heavily as she needed. She looked back to Besca and Follen, not lingering so long on the latter. “I’m gonna get her back to the dorm,” she said.

They hobbled away, Quinn still sobbing, and vanished into the hallway.

The instant the doors shut, Besca whirled on Follen. She seized him by the collar with a barely-restrained snarl, incensed by the fact that even that didn’t elicit more than a cocked brow from him. He wasn’t even looking at her, the rat fucking bastard.

“She wasn’t ready!” she shouted. “She wasn’t ready you son of a bitch, she wasn’t! We should have run sims!”

Hands pulled her away, bodies squeezed in between them. She let him go, let herself be spaced away as he walked closer to the Savior.

Ichor stained the floor, pooling into large drains while janitorial machines scrubbed up the residue. It leaked from the wounds Quinn had rent into the arms, stained the modium claws on its fingers.

“Did she touch her face?” he asked.

Besca shook the hands off her. “Fucking what?”

“Her face. While she was phasing, she didn’t touch her face. Not once—I didn’t see it, did you? No. Just clutched her arms.” He shook his head, not disappointed, but confused. “She didn’t scream, either. No indication she was in pain.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come here, Besca.”

Hands still wound into shaking fists, she walked over to him. His head was craned up, and a curious smile crept onto his lips. She followed his gaze to the Savior’s slumped face, to the mouth limply agape, wet with dark slaver and hot breath.

And ichor.

So much of it, dripping down its teeth, down its chin and into the drains. It stared down at them vacantly, red eye dim.

Red eye.

Eye.

One of its eyes was gone.

Besca gasped loud, almost staggering back. Gone, the socket was empty—no, not just empty, burst. It was as though the eye had exploded, not a trace of it remained.

“Interesting,” Follen muttered. “So very interesting.”

---

---

They’d gotten Quinn back into her own clothes and into the lift without issue. The ride was just as quiet, broken by the occasional sob.

The dorm was still empty. Dahlia kept a firm and steady hold on Quinn, guiding her to the room beside Besca’s. She laid her down on the bed, flicked on a light on the nightstand.

“It’s over, Quinn. You did it. You did good. Just relax. Breathe.” She vanished for a moment, in the bleary dark between blinks, and returned with a glass of water. “Try to drink something. That helped me my first few times.”

Amygdala Circuit

“Quinn? Quinn, hey? Hun, you there? Comms, hey, you, check the—why can’t she hear me? Quinn? Quinnlash”

Besca’s tablet erupted with flashing lights and frantic beeping. She tossed it aside. Something was wrong. This was done. Enough. “Get her out! Now! Get her out!”

“She hasn’t phased yet. Take her out and we’ll have to put her right back in.”

“We’re not putting her in ever you fuck! Do you hear me? Ever!”

“Then she goes home!” Follen said, and there was almost a sharp edge to his voice. Almost. “Then she goes home,” he said, calmer. “And everything you’re afraid of, everything you think that means. It does. And more. And so much worse. Leave her in, Besca. Or let her go.”

Every muscle in her face strained not to twist into fury, or devastation. Her throat clenched not to scream. She tapped her earpiece again, desperate.

“Quinn! Quinn!”

Quinnlash

Buried name

What more can they take? How much more will we let them take?

It felt wrong. This power, this being, it felt so wrong and inhuman. She knew, sitting there—sitting where? Which seat was hers, really, the chair or the wall?—it was told to her in the static that she was loaned this. Strange things, shared. Evolution, parsed and priced, offered and imposed. She would not take so greedily, so freely, and be ignored. Great eyes, invisible eyes saw her, Quinnlish, I am seen and I find their gazes repulsive.

Hate them Quinnlash

It’s what they deserve

And it was, wasn’t it? Her home, all of it, gone. Burned. Buried they buried it all of them. For what? She knew what, she’d been told that as well. She’d been told, and it doesn’t matter why. Do you hear, Quinnlash? It doesn’t matter. Their reasons. Their wants. They are monsters. They are vermin. They are weakness and they would take from us.

Hate them, Quinnlash

Quinnlash

Quinn

“—my voice.” like a knife piercing the static. A hand reaching down into the water. “Listen to my voice.”

Especially in the dark.

Dahlia’s voice filled Quinn’s ears. Filled her mind. Everything quieted, the static, the thrumming, the voice. All of it was gone. It was as quiet as the dorm. They were as close as they had been, collapsed onto the floor.

“I’m with you. I’m here. Listen to me. It’s like we’re in a tunnel, isn’t it? Do you see the end? Take my hand, pretend for me. Take my hand, we’ll get there together.”

Below, the beeping stopped. The monitors settled. Dahlia stood beside Besca, the woman’s comm piece in her ear. She stood at the base of the Savior, looking up, into Quinn’s eyes. She smiled. It was thin, and as fragile as the one Quinn had worn that morning. But it was there. Still there.

“Let’s go, Quinn. Almost done.”

Amygdala Circuit

Besca stood below, watching Quinn try out her limbs, stretching her legs, rolling her shoulders. The analysts all carried tablets monitoring the Savior’s vitals, and Quinn’s. She took one without a fuss—another perk of being commander that she wasn’t quite used to.

“Yep, now we wait,” she said. “Why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner tonight? I’m not the best cook, but I bet between the three of us we can tackle just about anything.”

This was beginning to feel more familiar to her—saddening in its own right, but nonetheless. Helping pilots pass the time, helping them not think so much about what they were doing, about where they were. She remembered Safie’s phasing test, how nervous she’d been. They’d talked about doing gymnastics in middle school, how Besca could hardly do a split, how Safie had dropped out to focus on sims, but always regretted not keeping up with it as a hobby. They’d given her a challenge then, something to set her mind on—two weeks later Jubilee was the first Savior Besca had ever seen do a handstand.

She didn’t quite know where to go with Quinn, yet. The other pilots had all been so eager to jump in, but this was different. Quinn didn’t want this, and while she’d never encountered a situation like this in her career, Besca knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that making someone want to pilot who didn’t, was not an easy task.

The Modir’s face—Savior, now, though it strained her to say it—twitched, its flayed rictus hitching ever so slightly down, though the things could never emote much.

“Where's Deelie?”

Yeah. Where was Dahlia? She’d sworn to be here, right after—

Besca whirled to Follen, muted herself on the comms. “Where’s Dahlia.”

He glanced at her, sniffed, said nothing.

“Fuckface, I know she came to see you this morning. Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” She sucked in her lips, her teeth came together. “That’s a fucking order, Follen.”

“No need for any of that, commander. A simple mix up. Our new Savior here only finished regenerating at the top of the hour, we couldn’t be sure when exactly it would be ready.” He continued looking up at the giant, waved happily to it. He must have muted himself as well. “I told her to go ahead and start on her sims.”

A pure and violent fury burst to life in Besca’s chest. She took a step towards him—he didn’t flinch—and stopped. The only thing keeping him off the floor, and her hands off his neck, was that Quinn was up there, watching. Through gritted teeth she took a breath, and pulled up the tablet.

“I’m calling her in.”

“Don’t, Besca.” His voice took a turn for the sincere, and it nearly stopped her dead. “She needs this. These crutches you’re giving her, they won’t help. They’ll ruin her. You know I’m right.”

Their eyes met. Besca saw past them, past the shell of warmth and humanity, to something dark and else beneath. For a moment she mourned her friend, and feared the thing standing beside her. Then she frowned.

“Fuck you, Aldous.” She sent an alert to Dahlia, then unmuted her comms. “Little mistake in the schedules, hun! She’ll be right on her way! You should ask her for some ideas when she gets here, she spent a lot of time cooking with Ghaust.”

Minutes passed, them more. As Quinn sat there, at first she only felt what she was. Strength, clarity, a dull and guarded comfort. Then, slowly, something else began to buzz within her. At first it was nothing more than a flicker, a flitting of shadows across the mind, but as the minutes went on, and then the seconds, it did change. A thrumming, a prickling like when her foot fell asleep, or she banged her elbow, only lesser, and not on any limb, but concentrated within.

It spread through her like an ink stain in clear water. Stark, sprawling. It still didn’t hurt, but she could feel it, certainly.

Static. Living static. It crackled in her mind, it breathed with her lungs.

And it did not know her.

We’re strangers, that dark and I. Oh, Quinnlash, but we’re here again. How the void calls, how the circuit creeps shut. To feel it, to forget your own skin and your own soul.

Hate it, Quinnlash.

Below, lights began to flash on the tablets. Brows shot up, murmurs abound. Besca could hardly believe her eyes—was she phasing? Already? If not, she was certainly close.

“Wonderful, Quinn. Just wonderful,” Follen said, and she wanted to slap the comm piece from his ear. “Only a minute or two more.”

Close. She was close. Close to what? The thrumming grew stronger, the power with it. It was raw, and liberating, and as it slowly built, thoughts came to her like questions from a child. Thoughts of Hovvi, of home. How could anything have been so small? How could her whole life have been a single room? Why?

Why don’t you hate this, Quinnlash?

Amygdala Circuit

I’m with you, even in the dark. Especially in the dark.

It was not dark for long.

The seat closed shut around Quinn, fastened her still and secure, but there was not much time to fret over it. As she sat there gulping down the frigid air, staring into the black and begging deliverance from anything that might hear her thoughts, the darkness began to smear. The chill left her, as if sucked away through a vacuum. A warmth duller than the suit took its place. Warmth and…strength.

Yes, sitting there terrified, the first thing to come to her was a feeling of immense power. Power and then lightness; she was a feather for a moment, hovering, too dainty for gravity to clutch. Like she had been living her whole life with a hundred pounds strapped to every limb, and they were taken away. The walls of her body, the limits of her being, they collapsed.

There passed a splitting moment only remembered later, where she was nothing, where Quinnlash blinked out of existence. So fast, so sudden, she wouldn’t even notice.

And then, light.

So much light, more than she’d seen in years. The world—or, rather, the hangar—opened up before her and it was so…so…much. There was so much of it, like it had doubled in size. And depth, too. It was strikingly dizzying—though, she’d notice, distinctly not nauseating. It might have taken several moments before she even began to realize what was happening.

She had two eyes.

Quinnlash had two eyes again.

Dahlia wasn’t lying—it hadn’t hurt at all. She was taller, much taller. She could feel the wall against her back, hard steel but neither was it cold or uncomfortable to her. It was as though the outermost layers of her skin were toughened, numbed. She knew there was feeling below, but it was guarded.

For many moments the silence continued. Below her, the group of crewmen and doctors and all gathered. Besca was there, too, hand pressed to her ear.

“Quinn! Quinn, can you hear me? You connected, you did great, hun! You did so great—you’re doing so great!”

She heard Besca’s voice in her ear, as though they were on the phone together. Without even needing to think about it, the volume adjusted perfectly.

“Quinn,” Follen’s voice joined them. “Well done, darling, the first hurdle is done. You don’t need to stand up or anything, you can just sit there and get comfortable. Though if you could, move your arms for us, flex your fingers, maybe stretch you legs out. Everything ought to feel just fine.”

Amygdala Circuit

The Modir starred ahead, its eyes dimmed to hollow cherry orbs in their sockets. It looked almost like it was resting; if she looked closely enough, if she could, she would see its massive shoulders rising and falling as slightly as Dahlia’s had this morning. By now, perhaps she expected the voice to come, to hear her own thoughts and feel them as another’s, but it didn’t. There was only silence, broken by pounding of her heart, and the chattering of her teeth.

There was, however, something else. Not words, not thoughts, but feeling. It was submerged deep, but it treaded impatiently, kicked trying to rise to the surface and force itself to be felt.

Anger.

Something wanted to hate this thing. Wanted Quinnlash to hate it.

Besca was on her then, arms around her like she thought Quinn was about to collapse—had she? A hand felt gently at the back of her head, waved in her face. The words seemed so far away, shoved to the back. Another blur approached, gestured Besca aside, and she did so only after more blurs ushered her back.

Light flicked across Quinn’s eye, quick from side to side. Snapping in her ear. Her name, said soothingly, but intently. “Quinn.” It was Follen. He shined a little flashlight at her eye again, turned it away. Fingers propped a bump on the back of her head, but came back unbloodied. “Quinn, darling.”

The feeling sunk, though its displeasure remained. With its going, the world slowly began to return to her. Follen before her, thin smile on his lips, warm eyes behind his glasses.

“I know, Quinn,” he said quietly, even Besca couldn’t have heard from the few steps away. “But if you don’t do this, they will send you home. Right back to your mother and father. Don’t let them do that to Besca. Don’t let them do that to you.”

And suddenly he stood away, and his voice returned to a normal volume. “She’s unharmed. Her plugs are intact as well, she’s fine to proceed. At least give her the chance.”

Amygdala Circuit

“...never mind. I'm...I'm okay.”

Besca couldn’t stop thinking about those words, how Quinn had said them. She’d sounded like a kid telling their first lie, trying to figure out how words were supposed to sound when you didn’t mean them. She wasn’t okay. A glass smile and breakfast weren’t going to change that, and right now there probably wasn’t anything that could.

Before either of them knew it, it was time.

She didn’t want to take her. It was awful enough seeing people like Ghaust and Safie, adults, climb into those monsters and put their bodies and minds at risk. Every time Dahlia suited up, Besca still felt her heart sink. She didn’t know what she’d feel when Quinn vanished into the cockpit. It wouldn’t be good.

The elevator across from the dorms was spacious, big enough to have fit a pilot from every room. With just the two of them it felt empty, quiet. It moved fast, they reached the station’s belly in well under a minute.

The doors opened to another hall, with a door to one side reading: PREP, another reading: DECK and the middle path, which carried on a ways until it hit a third door. HANGAR.

Besca led Quinn to the Prep room. It was about the same size as the elevator, but with a row of large lockets bisecting one. One was open, revealing a hook holding what looked like a slim, dark diving skin, rife with circular plugs and nodules along the spine, cuffs, and ankles. Behind it was a much heavier, baggier jumpsuit with an array of pouches fashioned into it. Along the inner face of the high collar were vents, and a thick, leathery gorget sealed it off from the rest of the interior. A pair of boots lay at the bottom, alongside a set of gloves. All of it seemed perfectly sized for Quinn.

“Go ahead and swap into that. You can leave your clothes in the locker, we'll come get them when you're done.” She made her way out, remembering to keep the door propped—slightly. “I’m gonna go check some stuff, meet me right out there in the hangar as soon as you’re done, okay hun?”

She didn’t particularly want to leave Quinn alone, but it would be brief, and she’d only be down the hall. Still, she had to force herself at a brisk pace or she’d have slow-walked until the girl caught up to her. So, out she went, into the hangar.

It had been a week since she’d stepped foot in here, perhaps a bit less. She’d come when they’d retrieved Grauritter and Jubilee, just to see. Just in case. But that was what confused her, now. Saviors regenerated fast, usually, but heavier wounds, especially ones that were fatal to the pilots, often took much longer. Grauritter had been torn to pieces, and Jubilee had needed to regrown itself entirely from the neck down. A week wasn’t long enough for either.

They weren’t planning on connecting her to a Savior that was still missing its limbs, or organs, were they? No. Quinn would connect and feel like she was being ripped apart, it would be torture.

She needed answers.

What she got was Follen. He stood with a cluster of engineers, analysts, a few other members of the medical team. No wonder he was here—he’d spearheaded the whole thing, of course he was here. She marched over and summoned up just enough self-control not to grab his shoulder and whirl him around.

“Follen,” she snapped, and he turned. “What’s going on? There’s no way either of our Saviors are ready for connection, so what are we doing? I swear to god, if you’re planning to hook her up to one of them half-healed, I’ll—”

“God no, commander, that would be abhorrently inhumane. No one here wants to see miss Loughvein hurt.”

She grimaced, ignored his saccharine grin. “Then what’s the deal? What are we doing here?”

Follen gave her an odd look, something like genuine emotion flickered in his eyes. Confusion—and then, amusement. “Commander you have been so busy, I suppose it’s no surprise you missed the memo.”

“Enough, Follen. What—”

He nodded behind her, and as she followed his gaze around she saw it. Her breath caught in her throat, her words died in her mouth.

There, sat against the wall in a housing chamber, was the Modir that had come out of the lake. The one that had destroyed the elevator. The one that had killed Safie.

_{“Oh god...”}

Amygdala Circuit

It felt colder all of the sudden. Chilly like the night air, like a breeze over the lake. Frozen in her seat Quinn couldn’t know if things were changing around her, but that dread clung to her. Was she still dreaming? Had she slipped through one veil into another? In her mangled periphery there was darkness, but was it real? Was her vision blurring? The doubt was a hand on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear.

Did her reflection in the polished counter look younger?

Did it have both eyes?

Were those hoofbeats in the hallway outside?

Was she hearing her name, still? Formless, wordless, but every moment that passed it was there in her brain, lighting up. Quinnlash. Quinnlash. Maybe she was still there, Quinnlash, maybe you are.

Quinnlash.

“Quinn! Quinn—hey!” Hands on her shoulders, a shape moving into view. Besca, holding her, shaking her gently. “Quinn, hey, you’re here! You’re here. It’s me.”

God, it happened so fast. Dahlia had left, and Besca was certain things were, well, maybe not good but at least marginally better. Then Quinn had locked up, started mumbling into her hands about a voice. About the voice on the phone, in her head.

She’d asked if it was normal.

It wasn’t, but then, nothing about what had happened in Hovvi was normal. And more and more it seemed like nothing about Quinn was normal, either.

“It’s okay,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted so desperately to give her answers, but she just didn’t have them. Not yet—but she would, dammit. She would. “Quinn, listen to me. Breathe. Listen to me. You don’t have to run anywhere up here. You’re safe, hear me? You are safe. The only one saying your name right now is me. Quinn. It’s me. Okay?”

Amygdala Circuit

“I think I'd like that.”

The words were an incredible relief, but not nearly as much as the smile on Quinn’s face. It was small, and god, it looked so delicate, but it was there. It vanished quickly, but Besca didn’t despair over it. She could still smile. They could bring it back. They would bring it back. No matter what, Besca swore she would bring that smile back.

“...Do you have a hairbrush? Can you help me with hair?”

“Oh. She looked at Quinn’s hair. Really looked at it. “Oh. Uhm, yeah, hun, of course. ‘Course I can do that. Yeah.”

Leaving the commons momentarily to retrieve a brush from her room, Besca paused to clutch her face and panic. God. Oh god. She’d never done anyone’s hair before, not like this. Putting clips in Dahlia’s hair, or helping Safie rinse out dye, none of that was any kind of preparation for managing the beast on Quinn’s head.

Figure it out, Besca.

“Alright! Got it!” she called, bounding back out, brush in hand. She rounded up behind Quinn, and took solace in the fact that she couldn’t see the fear in her eye. This first part, undoing it, brushing it out, that wouldn’t be so bad, right? It was the second bit that worried her. Tying it. She didn’t know how to tie a braid. She knew how to tie her shoes, and the strands on her workout pants—which was, effectively, just the same tie as her shoes—but a braid? And one so long?

Figure it out, Besca.

Very gently, very slowly, Besca began to brush down the length of the braid. It had been a minute since it had been cleaned, clearly, but the more she brushed, the looser it became. When it tugged on a knot, she would stop, adjust, finagle it out, and then continue. Easy—ish. Eventually she brought her other hand into the fold and started to coax the braid open bit by bit. It was a slow process, but, still steady.

“It won’t take long,” Besca said, a bit absently with her focus split. “The test, I mean. They want to see how long it takes you to phase once you’re connected. Some people are fast, some people are slow. Normally it doesn’t take longer than fifteen minutes or so. Could be you’re quicker, could be you’re slower. There’s no wrong answer, you can’t fail. You just have to…do it. Then you’re out, it’s done.”

The last plaits came undone, and Besca marveled at how long Quinn’s hair was when it was down like this. She ran her fingers down it, continued to brush it straight and smooth.

“I uh…I don’t really know how to describe it. I’m not...I’m not a pilot, I’ve never had to do it.” But she’d watched it before, listened to it hundreds of times. How could you describe something like that in a way that wasn’t terrifying? Melding your body and mind with an alien creature, sharing your senses. “It’s uh…you…well you get into the cockpit…”

“It’s like being really tall.”

Besca jolted, glad she hadn’t taken hold of Quinn’s hair yet. Dahlia emerged from Safie’s room, dressed, looking only a bit less tired than before, but still less. The bright yellow jacket was a far cry from the muted colors of her usual wardrobe, but it fit her just fine.

She came over behind Quinn, taking long sweeps of hair into her hands, and Besca scooted aside.

“People told me all sorts of things before I did my test. I read a bunch of articles, and interviews. I was nervous, and I really thought it was gonna hurt.” Dahlia’s fingers moved as dexterous as a spider’s legs. She wove the hair like webbing, like thread, with never a harsh tug or mistaken yank. Gentle as silk. “But I got up there, and you know, the cockpit was kinda dark, and being up that high made me a little dizzy, but one I was in, once I connected,” she shrugged. “I opened my eyes again and it just felt like I was taller. Didn’t hurt, didn’t feel weird, really.

“Phasing is a little different. I don’t really know how to say it…it’s like…well for me it’s like falling. Like that feeling you get in your gut when you jump from somewhere really high up. And the longer I go, the closer it feels like I’m getting to the ground, but I have a parachute and I can pull it whenever I want and I’ll stop. It doesn’t hurt, really, it’s just…weird. Sometimes there’s other stuff, too, like…in my head, if that makes sense.

“It also doesn’t feel like I’m alone, after I phase. Not like I’m with someone, but like I’m, I dunno, on the phone. And I’m talking to this person, or they’re talking to me, and at first I don’t recognize them, but the longer we talk, the more it starts to sound like my own voice. The more I’m sure I’m talking to myself.”

Besca hadn’t even realized Dahlia had finished the braid. It looked absolute pristine. She came around to Quinn’s side, looked her in the eye.

“I was scared my first time. My first few times. It’s okay to be scared. Being strong doesn’t mean you’re never afraid of anything, sometimes it means being afraid of something and doing it anyway.” She brushed a few strands back behind Quinn’s ear, smiled a warm and tired smile. “Remember you’re not alone. We’re with you. I’m with you, even in the dark. Especially in the dark. That’s what it means to be friends.”

She gave the girl a hug, quick and tight, and then headed for the exit. “I’m gonna check in with Follen, then I’ll come to the test. I’m behind on my sims, so I’ll have to catch up on that afterwards. I’ll see you guys for dinner.”

Then she left them. Besca felt a weight in her shift, uncertain. At the very least, Dahlia was walking again, talking again. She looked down at Quinn’s braid and smiled.

“I think that looks fantastic, how about you?”

Amygdala Circuit

Since Besca had met her, it seemed like each word Quinn uttered unnerved her more than the last. From the odd comments about her life, to the frantic pleas not to be left alone. Now this, with the doors. She had laid awake this morning, staring into the dark, contemplating the feeling of dread she’d felt in Follen’s office, slowly realizing that something was horribly wrong with Quinn. The picture was still incomplete, but with every piece that fell into place, she doubted more and more that she wanted to see it done.

It was too early for questions, Besca told herself. Prying now would only make things harder on her, and that was the last thing she needed, especially today.

Quinn emerged from her room shortly, donned in clothes that struck Besca with a sense of nostalgia.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look great, hun,” Besca said, smiling.

She left the stove on a low simmer, in case Dahlia woke up, and brought her own plate over to sit across from Quinn. She watched her eat, saw how she looked at once uncomfortable and content, and smiled. This was good. This was necessary. Sitting with her, eating together, Besca felt a wight slough off her shoulders.

She let herself enjoy it for a few, precious minutes.

“They want to do the test this afternoon,” she said. “So we’re in no rush. Take your time. I made sure I’ll be there through the whole thing, and after. When it’s done we’re gonna come right back here, and we can do whatever you want. Watch a movie, play some games—I’ve got a cookbook over there, you pick a recipe, and that’ll be dinner tonight. You can even help, if you want to.”

Amygdala Circuit

Besca’s face lit up when she saw Quinn. The girl looked—well, she didn’t look great, but she hadn’t woken up screaming, which, in her book, was definitive progress. Her eyes were still tear-swelled, her feet still needed some time to finish healing, but, baby steps.

“Morning, Quinn!” She set the pan aside, turned the stove down, and scooped a small bag from the counter. Coming around, she held it out to her. “There weren’t a lot of things in your size, but I found some of Dahlia’s old stuff from when she was your age. She’s never been much for fashion, but she always knew how to pick out the most comfortable stuff. Here, all yours. Go ahead and change, I’ll set you up a plate.”

The bag wasn’t particularly heavy, there wasn’t much in it. A pair of bright salmon-colored pants, a pair of sweats, a small stack of cozy looking shirts, and some socks with the Hovvi flag on them, like you’d buy at an airport or a gas station.

“And, ah,” she knelt down, lowered her voice. “Thank you, Quinn. For going in there. For being with her. She’s hardly spoken a word all week, even to me, and…I know she’s not okay. I know neither of you are okay right now, but it’s a good thing that you were there for each other.”

Besca ran a hand through Quinn’s hair, stroked her thumb across her cheek. “Whatever you think, whatever you're afraid of…she’s glad you’re alive. So am I.”