The candidates gathered in the infirmary after the ruin’s pressure stopped. Du sat with his arm in a sling. Lin leaned against the wall while Qinghe checked the ache in her channels. Qiao’s shoulder was wrapped from the service panel. Wei sat on the bench with his sword across his knees and counted each injured person against the roster.
“Du.”
“Beside the cot.”
“Lin.”
“Against the wall.”
“Qiao.”
“At the desk.”
Yan lay on the next cot while Qinghe cleaned the stone cut in his palm. The bandage came away with a dark line of blood. The palm needed proper cleaning, and his shoulder bruise had not faded yet.
