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“There you all are! Oh, thank goodness.” Oscar staggers along the tunnel towards them, coat torn and brow sweaty, but he’s smiling. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”
No-one smiles back. Cel turns away, and Azu grips her axe. “Sorry, Wilde,” she says sadly. “But you need to stay back, please.”
“What? But...”
“Yeah, I don’t like it neither.” Zolf’s expression is hard, his glaive ready. “But we were split up, so now we keep our distance until we know if you’re infected.” He looks at Oscar coolly, without recognition. “Reckon you used to know that better than any of us.”