Twelve
“You’ve let him seal quarantine?” Ryann struggled to keep from yelling. The chief’s office was the wrong place to vent like this.
Arela, on her side of the desk, sighed. “Have a seat, Ryann. Grab a drink.” There was a water jug and two glasses on the desk already. One of the glasses was half-full, and wet circles dotted the surface of the desk.
Ryann sat, and forced herself to pour a glass. The water sloshed, in danger of spilling, and Ryann pushed within, forcing her lattice to soften her heartbeat.
“Yes, quarantine is locked down,” she said, after Ryann had taken a sip. “Daman has the authority to do so, but there are good practical reasons for us, too. I’ve been reviewing the feed from a few days ago. Watch.”
Arela sent the data stream, and Ryann pulled it up on one lens.
T
