Nobody's up yet. The stove sulks, the starter's sunk flat in its jar. Everything here is waiting for someone to bring it back to life. Go on.
Cinder's been cold since the fire died. Cold iron sulks: the door clenched shut, the damper pinched tight. She won't say much until there's heat in her belly.
Levain's been unfed for days. A neglected starter doesn't die, exactly. It sinks. Goes flat and grey and quiet at the bottom of the jar, waiting to find out if anyone still cares enough to feed it.
Everything Cinder and Levain need to live at your place, not ours.