the commissioner is in the middle of something important when cian comes in. from the table set in her office, dahlia has pilfered a snack in advance. as she tucks the shalour sable into her mouth, her eyes brighten big upon seeing her visitor. her lithe finger is plucked from her mouth.

"mm!" she pips. not because the shortbread is so delicious—it is, of course—but because she has been caught off-guard.

dahlia chews quickly and as carefully as she can. before she swallows, her hand covers her mouth in case of any stray crumbs.

"sorry! do make yourself comfortable. take a seat!" dahlia says. she extends the same hand from her mouth to the tin of shalour sables: "help yourself."

CIAN MAHER

"mm, they came in this morning." dahlia can still feel the smallest diamonds of shalour rolling across her fingerprints.

she takes her seat. slope track arms. upholstered neatly in white and fitted with bright wood. as soon as her back fits into the furniture's natural curve, her stoutland joins her from behind the desk. its heavy paws thud against the carpet before its heavier belly pushes against the floor with a fwoomph of fur.

"so, tell me, mr. maher, what pushed you to make this choice?"

CIAN MAHER

dahlia mirrors the other's frown. crumbs and all. as her stoutland's eyes close against mid-day rays, the commisioner leans forth into their warm beams that stream from the nearby window.

"guilt is a powerful thing," dahlia says after a dry beat, "trust me, i know it well."

it clings to her like alien ichor.

"and how will you absolve yourself of it? do you believe it to be possible?"

CIAN MAHER

to dahlia, cian's smile is innocent. an unbroken nest of a spring's first fletchling. there's hope, promise— and dahlia wonders how he has been able to safekeep that light within the shadows of the rocket syndicate.

and yet, dahlia is curious. she wants to pluck twig and twine from that crowning feature of maher. in cian's words, the diction is basic. vague.

there must be more.

"turning your back on them may be one way to start, yes," dahlia says, "but i need to know how far you've gone the other way first."

what has he done to make him feel so guilty?

"what is the worst thing you've done under rocket's command?"

CIAN MAHER

dahlia cringes as inwardly as she can. within seconds, the office becomes a confessional— except there is no lattice to speak disorder through. just shalour sables and blonde curls.

the penitent's list continues. dahlia wonders how long hers is.

"i'm sorry about that." dahlia frowns. "i can't imagine how difficult it must have been. how difficult it must have been to simply... well, survive! in rocket."

as her voice flutters back down from the chaos of exclamation, she asks one more question:

"did you join rocket by choice?" she has her doubts.

CIAN MAHER

as silas, the commissioner recovers a heavy memory pressed upon her chest. briefly, her eyes catch a glimpse of a phantom in the corner of the room. she releases a sigh— an auteur of her expression, dahlia masks personal sorrow for maher-empathy.

"does your dad know that you're out now?" dahlia asks. "as a ranger captain, boruta may not want any surprises. and i hope you realize, this road will not be easy. you will be under intense scrutiny."

she places a hand over her collar.

"not by me. but by the public. by anyone who knows. even with redemption, this past will haunt you until the end."

CIAN MAHER

the revelation cian falls upon is the darkest scream before the quietest death. within that silent sea, she treads- but her feet still strike the sediment of implication in its murky hue.

"spy? you do know the dangers associated with that, yes?" dahlia frowns. "does anyone in there know of your defection?"

CIAN MAHER