Trying to keep a secret, Maeve thinks.

She’s suddenly awkward, fluttering; she takes a seat as far from him as she can, but with six at the table, there’s not much distance between anyone. It’s only once she’s chosen a place that Dan approaches and pulls out the chair beside her.

“Stop it,” he says abruptly—but he’s talking to Justin, who aims his camera away without switching it off.

“What’s going on?” Maeve says, turning brightly to the others. There’s a somberness to the whole group and she doesn’t want to lose her buzz.

She leans in to scoop food onto her plate. Lasagna, red and steaming in its tray, bread, those tiny foil-wrapped pats of butter hard from the fridge. Anything she can get. Brazen, this desire to eat, to fill herself up.

“Just talking about the weather,” Justin says, faux sullen. He lets the camera swing out toward the window, a view of the blowing snow, before finally setting it down. But he and Karo exchange a look before Karo resumes talking in her usual brisk, officious tone.

“I’ve sent the cook home,” she says, gesturing to the table. “And the housekeeper. That’s why there’s no buffet. They were the only staff members on-site this weekend.”

Maeve looks up from her butter. In her hunger, she didn’t even notice the buffet wasn’t set up. Karo continues without missing a beat.

“Just down into town, not far. The roads are so bad, and sometimes it takes the plows a long time to get up here.”

“Almost three feet of snow in the past few days,” Dan says, leaning on the table beside her. Maeve shifts to give him a little room. “And it’s still coming. People want to see their families. Can’t blame them.”

At the word families, Maeve feels a sudden twinge of guilt. She’s missed the window for calling home today; it’s past the kids’ bedtime back in eastern standard time. Worth it, she asserts. Worth. It. You’re here to work, remember?

But her hand shakes a little as she brings fork to mouth.

Anna, next to her, marks it and drops her voice: “Everything all right, girl?”

Maeve sinks back against the cushioned dining chair; a hollowness, an ache in her bones. For the first time, she realizes how tired she is.

“Just low blood sugar,” she says. “I had a big day.”

“Really?” Sim leans in. “I had just the opposite. Couldn’t get a thing done. Couldn’t focus.” He plays his fork against the edge of his plate and comes back to Maeve, letting his voice drop a little lower: “Distracted, for some reason.”

Maeve fights a smile, then turns away. Karolina looks grim. “I know it’s a bit inconvenient—” she begins, but Dan stops her.