The building had been designed by someone who assumed that people on the upper floors would be asleep when the ovens were lit. This has never once been true.
Sofia woke at three because she always woke at three, and lay listening to her father move around downstairs the way other people listen to rain.
She could tell from the rhythm what kind of day it was going to be. Four trays: a slow morning. Six: a wedding, or a funeral, or both, since in this town they were frequently the same families.
This morning there were nine.