The window above the sink let in the kind of light that made everything look like it had been there forever. Mara was at the counter when Vane came downstairs, the accounts ledger open beside her bowl, her pen moving in small precise strokes. The blend was on the stove — the fourth version, he could tell by the smell. She didn't look up.
"Fourth version," he said.
"Yes." She made an entry. "Don't let it sit past the third hour. It goes bitter."
He poured a cup and sat down. The break notice had gone up yesterday and the lower Academic District was quieter for it — repair crews didn't start until the seventh hour and it wasn't yet the sixth. The morning had the emptiness of an island that knew most of its people had already left. The bird was on the wall, in its usual place.
