Page 42 of Suite 7

I find them. Place one in the basket without comment.

“Water. Fill to the six-cup line. Exactly.”

I fill the reservoir, watching the level rise, stopping it precisely at the line.

“Good. Now start it and step back.”

I press the button and the machine hums to life.

“Step back, Vera. Hands behind your back, and watch it brew.”

“Why do I need to watch it? It’s just going to⁠—“

“Because I told you to.” Steel in his voice now. “Step back. Hands behind your back. Watch. Now.”

The command moves through me.

I step back. Clasp my hands behind me.

And stand there, watching coffee drip into the pot.

I should respond to Vivian’s email. I should eat something. I haven’t eaten since noon. I should text Sloane. I should — Drop.

I need to —

Drop.

The list in my head keeps trying to start. Keeps not finishing.

There’s the thing with the —

Drop.

And I forgot to —

Drop.

I blink.

When did my shoulders drop?

The coffee fills the pot in slow, indifferent increments and I can’t do a single thing about the pace of it. Can’t optimise it. Can’t multitask around it. He told me to watch, so I’m watching, and somewhere in the last thirty seconds all seventeen things I was holding dissolved into this. The drip, the hum, my hands clasped behind my back.

My brain is quiet. Not silent. Just quieter.

No decision to make. No problem to solve. This.

The quiet feels strange. And kind of nice.

“How do you feel?” Kane’s voice, present but not jarring.

“Weird.”

“Weird how?”

“My brain is quieter.” I say it, like I’m reporting something surprising.

“That’s good.”