The two staff members were named Greaves and Tully.
Lena found them in a small office at the facility's far end, sitting very still, the way the eleven had stood very still, except that Greaves and Tully were not constructions — they were people, ordinary in the way that frightened, compromised people were ordinary, and they had heard everything happening in the cells beyond their thin partition wall and had not moved, not called for help, not done anything except sit and wait for whatever was coming.
"You're not in trouble," Lena said, from the doorway.
Tully — younger, perhaps thirty, with the specific exhausted quality of someone who had been afraid for a very long time and had stopped expecting that to change — looked up.
"He has my brother," Tully said. Quickly, the words coming o
