Owen only goes to the inn with a purpose; not one to check in, not one to rely on group meals. To be self-sufficient is the only freedom he knows. But if the others are drawing in toward it, the source of their curiosity must be observed--any meeting of people should concern strangers, should they be a source of discussion.

He's not sure how this ranks.

Despite the tool, the handwriting is similar enough to the tags on recent packages. His full name, thankfully only one of many. In waiting to be singled out, he hadn't imagined being part of a group, or even chose for a purpose.

He recognizes a couple of names at this point; slots the protesting woman at the fore into Margaery or Beverly by elimination. Then to Margaery as a red-headed woman clicks into a memory of the clinic. It left only Jean-Luc to his imagination, and he let himself remain in theirs--unannounced, uncomplaining, when he asked instead: "Has anyone located the spores? Those staying should find a way to contain or destroy the source, or we might all be in trouble."

Surreal as it had been to wander carpet-bombed cities between the zones and wilderness, it had been the right idea. Raze the earth, burn the fungus away. This group can't afford to lose sixty percent of its people and burn away a forest of resources to save the rest.