As the fleet pulled away, Ven looked out of the windows of her temporary quarters. She sat in the chair with a heat lamp and sharpened one of her knives. It was relaxing. Ven didn't have any attachment to the planet that was falling into the distance. However, there was still a sense of something. She couldn't put a finger on it, but it was disquieting. She was so used to being on her own. To not being trusted and not trusting in turn. It was comfortable. However, first on the Brimstone and now here, she felt trusted. Like she was more then just a hired hand. She didn't know if she would be missed, but that they would somehow be less if she betrayed them. She didn't want them to be less, they were good people. That was perhaps stretching the truth, but they were better people then she was. Not that being better then her was particularly hard.
It was a deeply uncomfortable feeling. Ven knew what she should do, she should leave. Perhaps plant some explosives as a departing gift, steal a shuttle, and fly somewhere, anywhere, else. However, she also knew that she wasn't going to do it. It wasn't that she wasn't capable of betraying their trust. She had killed people who were nicer and trusted her more then they did. It was that for the first time in a very long time that she suspected that they didn't really deserve it, that perhaps death wouldn't be the release for them that it would be for her. So she made a decision, if she left, she wasn't going to steal much and wouldn't give them something to remember her by.