The kitchen was the warmest room in EMBER Studio.
Neva had not planned for that when she chose the building, but it had turned out to be true — something about the orientation of the windows and the pipe routing from the building's old heating system made the kitchen hold temperature in a way the office floors didn't. She had started doing administrative work in there in the mornings. She was sitting at the kitchen table now with her left sleeve rolled to the elbow and a fresh cut running four inches along her forearm because Priva had said, standing in the doorway of the main floor at six-fifteen in the morning with her eyes doing the fast comprehensive scan she ran on every room she entered, "Kitchen. Now."
Neva had gone to the kitchen.
Priva had the first aid kit out before Neva's sl
