REMI'S POV
I came into the kitchen at six-fifteen.
Marisol was already there.
Of course she was already there. Marisol had been in the kitchen before six every morning of the visit, operating on what I had come to understand was the Moonhaven pack's metabolic relationship with the concept of sleep, which was that sleep was for people who didn't have things to do, and Marisol always had things to do.
She looked at me when I came in.
I looked at her.
A beat.
"Coffee's on," she said, with the specific neutrality of someone who has already conducted a full assessment and is choosing not to comment on it.
"Thank you," I said.
I poured coffee. Sat at the island. The city was doing its early thing outside, the particular quality of six in the morning that belonged only to itself.
Mariso
