<ul>The glue on her wound had ripped open slightly, much to her dismay, as she soon came to find out when she unzipped the uniform and eyes beheld the small trail of red on her skin. Running to the sink, fingers tried to wipe it away, gritting her teeth through the pain.<br/><br/>She felt really stupid. What had she accomplished? Things were going exactly as she needed them to. Quen was growing comfortable with her, had began to even divulge parts of himself to her, and her damned pride had stepped in. What did it matter what he thought of her? Why did she care?<br/><br/>Her father always told her younger self that stubborn pride would get her into trouble, and it had. <br/><br/>The heavy metal came to a close then, echoing slightly in the emptiness of the containment cell. Silence enveloped the small room, and she was left with the sound of her own breathing. People made you weak. She had known this. She <span style="font-style: italic">knew</span> it.<br/><br/>Cursing softly under her breath, she lowered herself down onto the uncomfortable mattress, and remained there, attempting to clear her mind of all that had happened in the past 24 hours. There would only be one more chance, and when it came she would need to be ready. Next time, if necessary, she would kill him if there was no other choice. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Stealing the archaic piece of weaponry had been the easy part. She had timed everything perfectly. She had managed to hide the item safely in the ship before returning to retrieve the multiplexer that was keeping the alarm from going off. The technology would act as a digital fingerprint leading authorities to Zilah. In hindsight, she wondered why it had mattered that she retrieve the damned thing. She'd cracked all the codes, delved deep into the layers of security, and it was smooth sailing. Unfortunately, when she had returned there was someone there. A human. <span style="font-weight: bold">That</span> she had not anticipated. Zilah had been a lot of things, but murderer was not one of them. Why did he decide to be there instead of sending a droid? For the rest of her days, the question would haunt her. <br/><br/>There hadn't been much time. She'd pulled out her handgun, taken aim, and the shot had gone through the back of his neck and out the throat. A painting of blood splatter graced the grey walls. What good had it done? Her fingers had trembled as she lowered the gun. She had a collector waiting for the item. There was always someone willing to pay a large sum of money for the sake of their obsession. Stepping over his body, she'd unhooked the device and that was when all hell broke loose. The incident had made her sloppy, and Zilah had never hated herself more.</span><br/><br/>Turning onto her side, she tried closing her eyes, but could not shake the image. The woman was visibly shaking at the memory despite her attempts to calm herself. <br/><br/>The hours passed. Dinner came, and she did not bother with it. There was only her eyes staring directly at the wall before her, until finally -- mercifully, sleep came.<br/></ul>