"Welcome back."
The last of the transport light drained out of the platform, and the return chamber stood there in full, ordinary fluorescent detail. Twenty stretchers along the wall, made up and waiting. Medics in green with trauma kits open at their feet. A line of TRB officials behind the security cordon, lanyards and clipboards and faces that had been ready for anything except the specific thing in front of them.
Nine Challengers standing.
Eleven bodies laid out behind them in two neat rows.
Nobody answered O'Shea. There wasn't a shape for the answer yet.
Then two figures broke from the officials' line at the same time.
Ronan came first, moving the way he moved into a breach, fast and low-shouldered, and his eyes were already working before he reached the platform. He counted. James watched him do it, watched his lips move slightly, one to nine, and watched him hit the end of the count and start again, as if a second pass might find more.
