By noon, Oscar was conscious again, feeling sluggish yet simultaneously hair-trigger. He paid a visit to Greta, in her separate decontamination cell. Greta had passed a quiet night. She was now sitting bolt upright in her hospital bed, legs folded, hands in her lap, staring straight into space. She didn’t speak, she didn’t even see him. She was wide-awake and indescribably, internally busy.