Xander made it as far as the lower residential corridor before he stopped pretending he was going to his quarters first.The gear was bad. He could smell it on himself — diesel from the open plain, sulfur from the ravine, the specific combination that didn't wash out of fabric easily and that he'd be finding in the seams of this jacket for weeks. His hands were a mess. He hadn't looked at them closely yet, which was its own kind of decision.He went to the central chamber instead.Elena was at the table.She looked up when he came in, and there wasn't anything performative in the look — no relief theater, no held breath released for effect. Just the specific quiet registering of someone confirming what the frequency had already told her: he was here, he was upright, the day's accounting was closed."Sit," she said."I need to give you the field report—""Sit," she said again, "and then give me the field report."He sat.She didn't call for Aris.She got the damp cloth from his kit hers
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