"I can take BART," Sofia said, but her voice cracked. BART meant three transfers and arriving covered in someone else's coffee.

Darnell nodded. He didn't do small talk before 7 AM. Carl respected that.

"Same time?" Carl asked. "Same place?"

At 6:52, Sofia arrived, huffing with two canvas bags. She was a pastry chef at a French bakery in Berkeley, and the bags smelled of proofing dough and dark chocolate. She folded herself into the back seat, arranging her supplies around her like nesting dolls.