Mira had drawn the same junction three times, and none of the drawings contained an entrance.
Eli found her at the bakery table before dawn. The ovens were cold because the baker had given the remaining fuel to the shelter kitchen, but the room retained the stale sweetness of flour warmed too often. A lamp stood between Mira’s maps and Juno’s dismantled reader. Neither woman looked as though she had slept.
“The south feed failed twice while you were out,” Mira said.
“Were people moved?”
“The first group. The second warning came before they had finished clearing the street.”
“Deaths?”
“None confirmed. That’s not the same as none.”
He set the son’s drawing beside the maps. Mira looked at the exaggerated loading curb and then at him.
