The marble kitchen chamber had never felt so cavernous. Too much white stone, too much firelight from the furnace, too much silence.
Marron hated silence. It made her think. And thinking led to shaking.
So she didn't give herself the chance. She pulled what she needed from her stores—moonwheat flour, sugar, butter wrapped in wax paper, a precious bar of shadowcacao. Her hands moved on autopilot, measuring, sifting, creaming. The rhythm she'd leaned on all her life.
"You're baking?" Lucy's voice cut the silence like a blade. She stood in her humanoid form, arms folded, daggers at her hips. "Right now? Seriously?"
Marron didn't look up. She cracked eggs into the bowl, whisked until they foamed. "Some people drink when they're stressed. Some people eat. I bake."
Lucy stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "We're waiting for them to—" She stopped. Couldn't say it.
