She rubs his back, reminded viscerally and suddenly of that time she held Marco, despite her broken bones and burned body, before asking - begging, practically - to be reinfested. She can practically smell the blood, her own body infected and decaying, her son's salty tears.

But of course, it's just Tom's shampoo, and the garden, and the faint scent of chicken feed.

"It seemed like the right thing to do," she says quietly. She won't tell Tom it was wrong. Won't tell him that every moment she regrets it. She should have escaped with the Animorphs, fed them information, fought from outside instead of waging futile, hopeless war within. But it had seemed right.

How can she tell Tom the only major decision he's made so far was the greatest mistake?

So she doesn't.