“Put them in the cleaning tray,” he said.
The mechanical arm was extended from the wall, wiping the counter where flakes of pastry had fallen. Another was lifting the butter and leftover bacon from the counter and moving it to the fridge.
At least Heron still used machines for cleaning. He was somewhat civilized then.
He came up behind her, reaching past her to grab the carafe of koffee. “Now,” he said, refilling both their mugs, “shall we go to CyTown?”
“Do you think we can find Tristan without being caught?”
“Unlikely. Let’s do it anyway.”
“Your confidence is…alarming.” She joined him on the couch, steam rising from her mug, the heat pressing into her palms. The blanket they’d shared the night before was thrown over the back of the sofa.
“Here’s my honest assessment. I think we’ll
