Calen changed her linen before the bell. He did it at the kitchen table with the lamp still lit and the bread not yet cut, and Nell held her hand out flat without being asked.
The burn was clean. The white edge had gone soft in the night, and the skin around it was pink now, not red.
“Did it shake?” he asked.
“No.” She watched his fingers on the knot.
“I counted all night. It did not shake once.”
“Good.”
“Sir. Will the Ministry count yesterday?”
“No. Yesterday is in the book as a burn.”
