Wren slept for forty-three minutes.
Not at once.
Seven minutes sometime after midnight, eleven more before two, then enough broken pieces afterward to total less than an hour by the time the dawn bell sounded.
The bond was not entirely responsible.
That was the part she refused to examine.
At six twenty, she sliced the same bunch of parsley twice.
Maren removed the knife from her hand.
“I was using that.”
“You already finished.”
Wren looked down.
Two neat piles sat beside the cutting board.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves you need tea.”
“I drink coffee.”
“Not today.”
Maren moved toward the dry shelf.
Wren considered objecting, then decided she lacked the energy required to make refusal convincing.
The kitchen had not yet reached full morning volume. Petra worked near the
