The condo hung in suspended animation that afternoon. Sunlight slanted through the windows, catching dust motes that drifted through the silence like tiny galaxies. Natalia sat at one end of the massive sectional couch, her back rigid, tablet balanced on her knees. At the opposite end, Satori hunched over his own device, the space between them a no-man's land of cream-colored upholstery.
From the kitchen came the soft sounds of Kimiko preparing a snack—the gentle rhythm of a knife against a cutting board, the hum of the refrigerator as she opened it, the clink of dishes. To casual observation, it was domestic tranquility. To Natalia, it was the ticking of a countdown.
She glanced up, catching Satori's eye. His face remained impassive, but he gave her a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Her pulse quickened. It was time.
