Noah slipped in from the service hall with his collar still up and his hands in his coat pockets.
The sedatives rode there, warm against his palm.
The metal cases were hidden two floors down where no one from the living room ever wandered before coffee. All the much better not to be caught.
He shut the door with a careful push so the latch wouldn't click.
Zubair was already at the stove.
Steam rose in a steady ribbon from the kettle. A half filled big bowl of scrambled eggs sat on the counter, glossy and soft, the kind of careful heat that meant Zubair had stirred without stopping.
Bread lay in thick slices next to the hearth, toasting on a rack above the coals. Strips of seal meat rested under a towel to keep the warmth in.
A few months ago, Zubair had made the decision not to waste the generator on the toaster or the stove, not when they had the fireplace constantly burning.
Now, everything was cooked using that.
