"No, they're not broken, thankfully," Barnaby said with a small nod. Although he was no stranger to injuries, the thought made his stomach turn. When it came to fighting, his legs were his greatest strength. He hated to think what would happen if he'd fractured both of them. Either way, he realized his roommate didn't necessarily have to ask after his condition. "I appreciate the concern."

And though he hated the institute for what it had done to him, and ultimately to everyone else here, he knew he'd dodged a bullet the moment he woke up this morning.

"To be honest, I'm surprised they patched me up at all," he added with faintly furrowed eyebrows. "I'd started to get the impression that they didn't care whether we lived or died, and that this--" Barnaby gestured toward their warm chicken dinners. "--was just a facade. After all, they probably had the power to move us out of harm's way when the buses didn't reach the building before sundown a couple of nights ago, but they didn't."

That was exactly why didn't trust this place to spare him or anyone else in the future. Actually, he still needed to verify whether casualties actually occurred or not, but now wasn't the time to go rifling through the morgue. Like much of the institute, Barnaby was dealing with more pressing concerns, like the lovely rash creeping up his pale arm.