Her mother knew before she opened her eyes.
This was not supernatural. It was the practical consequence of living in a two-bedroom flat with a woman who had known Camila's face her entire life and who was already at the kitchen table when Camila emerged at seven-fifteen, which meant she'd been awake for a while.
Her mother looked at her. Said nothing. Poured coffee.
Camila sat down. Wrapped both hands around the mug.
"It was good," she said, before her mother could not-say anything.
"I know," her mother said.
"How do you know? I only just walked in."
"You're walking differently."
"I'm walking the same way I always walk."
"No," her mother said pleasantly, "you're not."
Camila drank her coffee.
Daniel appeared at seven-thirty in his pyjamas and the captain's hat, which had migrate
