[He's thinking about it. His arm tightens a little around her; he considers turning enough to take her right into his arms and hug her, but maybe now's not the time. Everything feels very tentative in this moment. Both of them know, and both of them are dancing around what hurts—and it's a dance Leon doesn't know the steps of. He's never had to do this before. Back home, it'd been him who was somebody's bad news once upon a time, after everything had happened.

And before that . . . his life just hadn't been touched by it. At least, not that he remembers yet.

He swallows, trying to work out what to say when he only half knows the situation he's reacting to.]

. . . I know what he was thinking. We asked the robot, before we got sent back. He let us ask him some questions. But it's—it's bullshit, it's not fair! They were using us! He admitted to it! Shoving us in crap like that 'cuz they knew it was dangerous . . . !

[And then he can't not ask, gently as he can.]

. . . Did they come home?