Grumpily, she followed Da Silva out of the waiting room. He smelled of lavender and cinnamon. “I need to collect the newspaper and the film reels so that I can begin documenting the discovery. This is major—there are thousands of people waiting to hear what that newspaper will tell us. They’ll already be wondering why I haven’t made a preliminary statement.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you have the film reels,” Da Silva said. “They’ve already been sent away for secure processing.”

“What are you talking about? That’s my damned data!”

“It isn’t data anymore,” the man said. “It’s evidence in a criminal investigation. The boy died.”

The force of it hit her like a stomach punch. “No!” she breathed, as if denying it might make any difference.

“I’m afraid it’s true.”

Her voice sounded ghostly and distant. “What happened?”

“There was a rip in his suit. Furies got to him.”

Auger remembered Sebastian complaining of a headache. That would have been the tiny machines storming through his brain, replicating and demolishing as they went.

The thought made her sick.

“But we checked the fury count,” she said. “It was zero.”

“Your detectors weren’t sensitive to the latest microscopic strain. You’d have known that if you bothered to keep up with the technical bulletins. You should have allowed for that factor in deciding whether to go outside.”

“But he can’t be dead.”

“He died during the ascent.” Da Silva looked back at her, perhaps wondering how much he was allowed to say. “Complete brainstem death.”

“Oh, God.” She took a deep breath, trying not to lose it. “Has anyone told—”

“His family? They’ve been informed that an incident took place. They’re on their way over as we speak. The hope is that the boy can be brought back to some state of consciousness by the time they arrive.”