BEFORE THEY LEFT
Harlen tried to stop them.
Not officially — he was too careful for that, too aware of the custodianship protocol and what it meant and what invoking it against the custodian himself would cost him professionally. He stopped Kai in the corridor outside the survey room at half past five in the morning, when the academy was dark except for the work lamps, and he put his hand on Kai's arm and said nothing for a moment.
Then: "You don't know what's in there."
"No," Kai said.
"The containment at Harren is a full seal. Not a management lock. A seal." Harlen's voice had the particular tightness of someone who had spent sixty-one years learning to be careful. "The regional authority used a Class Two instrument. That's not a door you open from the outside."
"I know."
