No,” Father said, wiping a hand across a sweat-glistened brow. “They were using both entrances, and you can bet your sister’s headed for one of them.” Paladin was still sweeping the room, its dome spinning around, lights flashing agitatedly behind the glass. “All right,” I said. “You go back to the cloakroom, where we came in. I’ll go to the south entrance.” “Can I trust you to come back?” Father asked. “Of course.
-Alastair Reynolds
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