Thomas breathed deep. 'Look… How do you argue with science? How? Think of that feeling you get when one of your buddies tells you to "tell him how it is"? Do you ever tell him the truth? Not usually. But why? Because you know that he's just like you, that he needs to hear some ego-boosting bullshit, that he just wants to hear his flattering preconceptions confirmed. Left to our own devices, we bullshit, end of story. Humans are bullshitters. So, set aside the fact that science has allowed us to unleash the sun from a few grams of plutonium, the bottom line is that it's the only institution we've ever come up with that's given us ugly truths. It's the cruel stranger, the one who lays it out as it is. So tell me, Ger, why would you even want to argue against it? How could you honestly think your burning bush trumps thermonuclear tests in the Bikini Islands?'

'You really think it,' Gerard grated, 'don't you? You really think Cassidy's right? That it's all fucking pointless.'

Thomas swallowed. The urge to lie was almost overwhelming.

Was this what Neil wanted? Someone to sing the aria for his lunatic opera.

'I don't know what to think,' he said lamely.

Gerard sneered. 'Then why should we, or even you for that matter, give a flying fuck about your son?'

Silence.

Tears filled Thomas's eyes. Not here please…

'You ass,' Sam whispered. 'You pathetic ass.'

'Give me a fucking break, Logan.'

'She's right, Danny,' Atta said. 'You know she's right.' Thomas sat down on the recliner, feeling numb in a way he had never experienced before. Numb to his fingertips. Numb through to his heart. Even his eyelids felt insubstantial. He knew that he looked broken, but brokenness required substance, and he had none. He had been afraid of crying before these strangers, but crying no longer seemed a possibility. It was as though he'd become a condensed edition of himself, all crises and climaxes abridged.

He thought of Nora, of her residue smeared across his thighs.

Sam's hand settled indecisively on his shoulder. She wanted to comfort him, he knew, but was afraid of what the others would think. She was frail, like the rest.

Only Neil was strong.

Sam said something to him, then began berating Gerard some more, listing a series of recent, almost fuck-ups—including his interrogation of Nora. 'Gerard the Retard,' she concluded in disgust. 'Isn't that what they called you at Quantico?'

'Come on, Sam,' Atta said. 'Danny? Both of you…'

'You're such a bitch,' Gerard cried. 'Don't you see what's going on here? Don't you know what this means?'

My son is dead.

'Danny!' Agent Atta barked. She grabbed him by the elbow and directed him to the far corner of the room.

Sam reached out and squeezed Thomas's hand. She tried to smile.