She woke up at six to birdsound and light coming through curtains she hadn't fully closed and the specific disorientation of a room that wasn't hers yet.

She lay for a moment looking at the ceiling. Old plaster, a hairline crack running toward the window that had probably been there for forty years. The kind of detail you only noticed when a room was very quiet and you had nowhere to be.

She got up.

She found the kitchen by following the warmth of the Aga and stood at the counter in her socks and her sleep clothes and made coffee from the things Roman had left — good coffee,...