"I'm sorry." His remorse sounds genuine, which may be a little surreal coming from Hal Yorke of all people, but there you have it. He's silent for a moment, out of respect at first, but then tensely, like there's something he should add, but can't quite. Finally: "And there's no one else? From our world?"

Only, he still has the folder. The pictures inside it. He hasn't moved them or so much as glanced at them in their position against the arm of his chair, but he can't forget they're there.