She came to the kitchen on a Sunday.
Not her kitchen — Sera's kitchen. The east one. She came at an hour when the compound was between its morning and midday rhythms, when Sera was alone, which Kira had either calculated or intuited.
She sat.
She looked at her hands.
This was not Kira's posture. Kira's posture was upright and purposeful. She had been upright and purposeful since Sera arrived in this compound. The looking-at-hands was new.
Sera put tea in front of her and waited.
"I need to tell you something," Kira said.
"Yes," Sera said.
"I've been waiting for the right moment," Kira said. "And I've understood, over the last months of watching you operate, that you would tell me there is no right moment and I should just say it."
"There is no right moment," Sera said. "Just say i
