At 2 am, Tilda realizes Magda's been gone since nightfall.
She went to work, with her sabre at her hip, daggers hidden in her clothes, and guild receipts and membership card in her breast pocket. She hasn't come home for a snack, and Tilda's been so engrossed in her work, drawing diagrams of destructive gadgets, that she hasn't even noticed, before now.
At 4 am Magda comes home, pockets heavy with coins, carrying two boxes of curry, a satisfied grin on her face. Tilda clasps her as soon as she's in, nearly knocking the boxes from her hands.
'Something wrong, love?' asks Magda, kissing her brow, even as her hands are too full to return the embrace.
'Missed you,' whispers Tilda, and never mentions the fire she'd built in their oven, despite the cost of coal. But Magda notices the heat.
At 7 am Magda pretends to sleep in Tilda's arms, sweat against her sweat from heat and sex. She's not surprised Tilda worried; she's surprised she herself didn't. This isn't a safe city.
They move away from each other as necessity dictates, these days. Magda listens to Tilda's even breathing, and wonders if they'll ever get used to it.