She didn’t know? Dahlia could have slapped herself; of course Quinn didn’t know what to do—how could anyone be expected to know what to do in a situation like this? Putting Follen’s apparent deception aside, there was [i]modium[/i] in Quinn’s head and, apparently, it had been there a long time, perhaps since she was little. A nugget of the what was perhaps the deadliest material known to man, lodged [i]inches[/i] from her brain and she was still breathing. 

Dahlia disabled the scan, the constant warnings were making her anxious. She sat back on the bed, staring blankly as the dark returned. 

What [i]should[/i] they do? Follen was still held up in the hangar, and would likely be bogged down with paperwork and meetings for the rest of the day. Besca would be lucky if she saw the dorm before the weekend, but would most likely be spending her nights catching powernaps on the bridge until whatever new international storm was brewing passed on. 

That left the two of them—well, technically the three of them, but damned if she was gonna count the [i]creature[/i]. They’d have to weather this on their own for now, which was, well, unideal, but that was practically the definition of their job. 

[i]‘[color=skyblue]Well, you can’t just sit here.[/color]’[/i] She thought. [i]‘[color=skyblue]You’re the big sister, act like it.[/color]’[/i]

Dahlia pushed herself up off the bed. Whatever the plan was, they couldn’t just coop up and cry in the dark until Besca came home. 

“[color=skyblue]C’mon,[/color]” she said, taking Quinn gently by the wrists to get her to follow. “[color=skyblue]Lets have something to eat, give ourselves some energy to think with.[/color]”

She pushed the door open, letting the light back in. It did make things a little better, a little more open, and—

Her foot caught on something and she stumbled to the floor, managing to catch herself with her good arm. Kicking back, she saw it was…her…shirt? A little graphic T-shirt with the faded name of a band she listened to when she was little. But this had been in her closet, hadn’t it? 

Crumpled up before her were a pair of shorts, which she was certain had [i]also[/i] been in her closet. 

So had the long-sleeve shirt on the table, and the four or five pairs of pants tossed over and around the couch. The dozens of socks. The undershirts. The sweaters, the coats, all twisted inside out or crumpled and strewn over the common area, the TV, even the kitchen—where the microwave was on and through the light she could clearly see at least two pairs of underwear rotating on the [i]popcorn[/i] setting. 

Across the dorm, another shirt came flying out of the open door to her room. Dahlia stared slack jawed as Roaki hopped out, holding a bundle of socks in her hand, and an [i]expensive dress[/i] in her [i]teeth[/i]. 

“[color=skyblue]Oh my GOD![/color]” Dahlia shrieked. “[color=skyblue][i]Roaki![/i] what the [i]hell?![/i][/color]” 

Roaki spat the dress onto the floor and tossed the socks up to scatter across the room like rain. She held herself upright, and met Dahlia’s eyes with a fearsome glower. 

“[color=ec008c][i]No one[/i] picks up Roaki Tormont without consequence![/color]” she declared. “[color=ec008c]Mark my words [i]lizard[/i], your suffering will be long and brutal![/color]”