“Smartest thing you’ve said in years,” Darlene mutters.
The kitchen greets me with heat, flour dust, and the familiar metallic breath of ovens turning on. The first light of dawn leaks through the high rear window, catching in the steam from the proofing cabinet and turning the air hazy gold. I lower myself onto the stool near the prep counter and pretend it does nottake effort. My body feels too loud. Every movement reports itself. Ribs, cheek, temple, knee, shoulder. A whole committee of complaints.
Darlene washes her hands and begins pulling dough from cold storage. “Tell me who did it.”
“Nara already knows.”
“I didn’t ask Mira.”
“Poison Memories.”
Darlene’s face goes very still.
Nara answers before I can. “Five of them. Kauss intervened.”
Darlene looks back at me. “The Vakutan.”
“Yes.”
“The one with the hood.”
“Yes.”
“The one you’re not making moon eyes at.”
“I am too injured for moon eyes.”
“Bruises don’t stop stupidity.”
Nara snorts softly while setting coffee to brew. Darlene rolls out the dough with short, hard motions, and I can see her anger in the way her wrists move. She does not coo over me. She does not ask if I am frightened. That is not her way. But she cuts the cinnamon rolls thicker than usual, which is practically a declaration of war on the universe.
“Did he kill them?” she asks.
“No.”
“Shame.”
“Darlene.”
“What? I’m old. I can have opinions.”
“He hurt them badly enough.”
“Good. I hope they remember it every time it rains.”
The oven warms the room until sweat prickles along the back of my neck. My stomach feels uncertain, so Nara makes me eat toast and drink water while she watches like a prison guardwith medical licensing. I manage half the toast before nausea threatens to make the morning more dramatic than necessary. She does not scold. She only adjusts the dosage schedule on my compad and tells Darlene exactly how often to check my pupils.
“I do not need both of you coordinating surveillance,” I say.
“Then stop requiring surveillance,” Nara replies.
Darlene slides a tray into the oven. “I’ve been telling her that since she was fourteen and tried to climb the old cargo crane to rescue a pigeon.”
“The pigeon was trapped.”
“The pigeon flew away while you were still stuck up there.”
“It was emotionally trapped.”
