Chapter One: The Fixed Diet

As he passed, she smelled no perfume and none of the warmth of a living body—only fir, silverware, and the sweet metallic breath of a newly opened blood bag. Service ended at eleven. After the last table left, the chef told her to go home, but Gu called her back from the dining room. “There are three errors in your allergen chart. Stay and correct them.” The supposed errors were ingredients absent from every ordinary database: marrow from a hibernating deer, black salt, and an undated red concentrate. A small hollow circle followed each entry. At eleven forty, every employee left. Gu locked the entrance and switched off the sign. Darkness swallowed the restaurant, except for a red seam beneath the basement door.