Salvar was lifted from the treadmill by the same man he had encountered a few minutes earlier.
He was looking at Salvar with the specific expression of someone who had deployed concern as an aesthetic choice rather than an emotional state.
"Aww," he said. "Poor thing. What happened?"
Salvar looked at his face.
Then at the treadmill before looking back at him again.
"You did that," Salvar said.
It was not a question.
It was a declaration delivered from the floor with the calm certainty of someone whose nose was currently informing him that something structural had gone wrong.
The pain radiated from the bridge outward and up into his temple, making the light in the gym more offensive than it had been two minutes ago.
He checked his teeth with his tongue.
They were still there.
But his gums strongly disagreed with the situation.
The man pointed at himself with the theatrical innocence of someone who had rehearsed this.
