Unable to sleep, I clear the untouched mess left in the wake of the inquisition on my own and am in the kitchen burning toast and making tea when Mara descends the stairs at dawn, desultory. The sun fades in through the windows, pale and weak. 'Morning,` I say. 'God is dead.` 'Coffee?` 'Fuck you.` 'Again?` She folds her arms on the counter and lets her head fall.