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Eight
Eight Quarantine was almost tomb-like in its solitude. Even with sol burning from the ceiling lights, it felt cold and dim. Maybe that was down to the lack of people. Turi didn’t encourage visitors. But he never refused Ryann. She stood in the outer room and gazed through the glass, as she had done so often over the last ten days. Not even two weeks, and everything had changed. She could hardly remember a time before the shades, so prevalent were they. Even when she wasn’t outside, she was aware of their presence around Haven. Everyone was. Arela was pulling back all missions now. She’d told Ryann that Daman could set his own traps. She wasn’t going to risk any of her people. The doors were all double-locked, and the arc-lights covered Haven in a wash of sol even during the day now.
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