Chapter 17: Salt in the Soup

Aria got sick on Saturday, which was typical. Three weeks of sleeping four hours a night, standing in cold rain outside a police impound yard, and eating nothing but burnt toast and shortbread, and her body had finally filed its objection. It began as a scratch in her throat at breakfast. By noon the walls of the kitchen at Bellefiore had begun to tilt. By two, Sof had put a hand on her forehead...