It was her worst nightmare: rampant instability of their world’s ethereal borders amplified by the threat of Rocket. The putrid presence of the organization still sat uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. A renewed sense of duty blanketed her in a thick robe of uncertainty that stretched across the rigid tension of her shoulders.

Her emerald gaze peers down at the datapad cradled in her arms, a flurry of lights bounce back and forth along a number of axis’s like a complicated heartbeat of the energies around them. It relays information from a network of sensors she frantically set up when the rift expanded. How reliable those sensors are is questionable.

“Secure” seems to always be temporary.

“It has, Silph” she hums without looking up at Fernando.

Silphs. She couldn’t escape them. Even Delilah Silph had recently paid her a visit. Eva does spare a short glance up towards him, thankful he looks nothing like MATIAS SILPH. That does help . . . a little, “Things seem stable for now,” she looks back down at the tablet, artificial light bathing her in an eerie pulse of blues, reds, and greens.

---

FERNANDO SILPH

Eva finds a sense of peace in the silence, in the bouncing lights she’s fixed her gaze on. She traces the patterns. Though they are unpredictable, she’s entranced by them, waiting with certainty for the spikes that communicate danger.

His simple question cuts a small stir of confusion. Her mind doesn’t wander too far from the task at hand. The professor glances up for a moment, an eyebrow arced in confusion, “And me? What about me?” she doesn’t make the connection to him playing off her previous statement. After all, Fernando had never been one to even pretend to be invested in her personal affairs. Their interactions had always been strictly professional.

---

FERNANDO SILPH

While she lingers on the inquiry longer, the truth behind it begins to sink in. She’s not too dense to decipher the hidden meaning.

She’s back in Hoenn, back to reality, now forced to deal with the sudden intrusion into her privacy by those that never thought to spare a second glance until there was something juicy to sink their teeth into, “Do I seem . . . unstable?” she asks in response, her gaze fixed on Fernando in an attempt to read him. It breaks only to glance back down at the sporadic readings as the cave’s energies shift momentarily to an unstable level before settling back down to equilibrium.

---

FERNANDO SILPH

With the question comes an understanding, he knows. It sounds like Matias has been flaunting it about, a subtle brag. She loathed the way they all tipped toed around it like she was a fragile porcelain doll about to break. Perhaps she is, but she’d rather break. She was long overdue for a good outburst. As always, professionalism reigned her in. There was an image, a brightness, she had to uphold. She wasn’t allowed to grieve.

Everything had to be perfect.

She almost laughs at his comment, but instead she just lets the faintest smirk cross her pink lips, “Ahhh so if I don’t look unstable, then you just assume I am,” her gaze turns back to the screen, “I’m fine,” even if she wasn’t, what was Fernando going to do? Console her? Comfort her? Eva may not know Fernando very well, but he certainly didn’t seem like the coddling type, so it mattered little how she felt as long as she could perform her duties as Head professor.

---

FERNANDO SILPH

The quickness of his response is enough to throw her off balance, if only momentarily. They creep closer to a subject she’d rather not breech which effectively pulls her attention further and further away from the flashing light on her screen. Eventually, she’s looking up at him again while her fingers find comfort in the tracing the familiar outline of the datapad’s smooth edges.

What he says next should surprise her because it sounds genuine and personal, two qualities she’s unfamiliar with in Fernando’s tone. Instead, it surprises her because of the situation, instability could cost them lives, “No, it’s not ok,” she states frankly, standing to find a semblance of her own confidence, “Not now, not when there’s so much at stake,” the world is bigger than her problems. She has a duty to fulfill, a balance to restore.

---

FERNANDO SILPH

Energies push and pull, waxing and waning tides in the ever turbulent storm of Dewford’s Deep Sea Rift. She tenses against the instability, her own hand finding the pokeballs at her waist to ensure they are there at the ready. It could all change in a millisecond.

“Yes, I agree,” she concedes in a soft voice, failing to make eye contact or give any sense of the turmoil that tore through her chest and the deep scars of insecurities it left. He left.

“But do we ever really get that luxury?” the softness of her tone grows playful, even a small twitch to corner of her lips, “It’s always one thing after another for us,” for those that have dedicated their lives to others.

---

FERNANDO SILPH

There’s something comforting about the constant crackle of white noise. When it disappears, the silence is jarring. Her fingertips rise to gently caress the device in her ear as if that will suddenly prompt it to resume its purring. She finds no peace in the silence they are granted.

Silph’s persistence on the subject is beginning to wear her down. It’s gentle enough to not feel like he’s prying, but out of character enough for her to approach with healthy skepticism. She’s certainly not going to peel back the bandages holding her together to open up here and now, and not for him of all people. Professionalism is a mask she wears well out of necessity and duty.

“Then what do you do when it’s too much, but you have to keep going?”

When facing it every day feels like it’s slowly eroding you away.

---

FERNANDO SILPH