REMI'S POV
Eleanor came at noon.
Isolde was four hours and thirty-seven minutes old. She had been weighed and measured and catalogued by Dr. Vasquez with the careful attention of someone handling something genuinely significant, and she had tolerated this with the resigned patience of a person who has already understood that being studied is one of the facts of her existence and has decided she will accommodate it on her own terms. Okafor had finished her notes. Marisol had eaten something — I had made her, pointing out that she had been awake since three in the morning and that the ribollita method of sustaining herself through significant events required actual food — and was now in the chair beside the bed with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea and the particular quality of a woma
