[ Jon has not thought of himself as anyone's boss in... a long while. And he hasn't had anyone cry in front of him— without threatening him, or wanting to run from him— in possibly longer.

Maybe that's why he reaches, awkward, to touch a hand to her shoulder. He realizes at the last moment that it's the burned one, an ugly mess of scar tissue, and drops it in a hurry. ]

She's dead. Cremated. All the worms, too. She, uh... there were no casualties.

[ He reaches up, abruptly self-conscious, and brushes his fingertips over the little round scars along his face and neck. Indicating them with an uncomfortable little quirk of his mouth. ]

A few, uh... souvenirs. But they were gassed before they got far.