Monica guided me to the decontamination cubicle. “Nothing. You stay there. I’ll get you some nice, calming magazines.”
I chased her and grabbed her sleeve. “You’re not telling me something. What’s been happening? Did someone get hurt in the missile attack?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” Holding my elbow, she directed me back into the chamber. “You need to rest.”
I pushed each side of the door. “I’m not moving or resting till you tell me.” I had to ask but part of me didn’t want to hear the news. “Is it Fox?”
Monica looked up at the ceiling, the door, the water-cooler; anywhere but at me.