There is a brief silence. Dyeawan shifts her focus through the thin crack from Oisin’s cape to Edger reclining in his chair. He’s not bothering with any of his painted facemasks.

“I fail to see the correlation,” he says a moment later.

“Conscripting mindless dregs is one thing. Conscripting those with intelligence and leadership ability and scorn for the Crachian government is quite another.”

“They are all the same when they are stripped bare. You are reaching, Oisin.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Really? Were you thinking when you took it upon yourself to send Savages into the Gen Circus? Explain to me how your perspective is beyond scrutiny in the face of actions such as that.”

Oisin grits his teeth. “They were disposable and less recognizable to the average Crachian eye than Ministry agents or Aegins in the event they failed. And I maintain they would’ve been remembered as no more than two tattooed dregs if the woman hadn’t survived to press the matter.”

“Hypotheticals serve no purpose to us.”

“I recognized my error and saw to the disposal of those bodies before anyone could confirm their identities. I took responsibility and learned from my error.”

“And yet the Xia woman does persist, does she not? Is that not why we needed to eliminate her in the first place? Her inability to simply accept the loss of her husband and her Gen and go quietly into obscurity. She would not let the matter rest. And she still won’t. If anything, she has become emboldened and even more vocal in public about the situation. Her persistence, and our problem, has only been exacerbated.”

“She is being allowed to persist at this point because she is too visible to make disappear. If a woman who is raving that her husband was abducted is suddenly abducted herself, they no longer sound like ravings.”

“That is my very point, Oisin. Any situation is all in how you frame it.”

A massive shape abruptly eclipses the world beyond the crack. Dyeawan’s breath catches in her throat and she throws her head back as the door is pulled open.

Mister Quan looms above her, staring down at Dyeawan quizzically. She’s completely obscured from view by his oversize frame.

She shakes her head, mouth opening to offer some apology or excuse.

Quan quickly brings a long, slender digit to his lips, silently instructing her to remain quiet.

Dyeawan closes her mouth and nods.

“Is there a problem, Quan?” Edger asks.

“I have forgotten what I was stepping out to do.”

“It must not have been so terribly important, then.”

Quan points down the corridor, his face wearing a sincere and urgent expression.

Again, Dyeawan nods. She quickly and gratefully reverses her tender and wheels herself away from the door.

By the time she hears it close and a steel lock snap home, she’s halfway down the corridor.