The bell above the bakery door rings once as Nyssa steps inside, composed but unusually deliberate, dark coat still dusted faintly with winter air. She waits until Evie looks up before speaking, voice low and steady. “I have come because today appears to be culturally significant for romantic declarations, and I prefer precision over implication. I have determined that I have imprinted on you. This is not compulsion, nor is it strategic. It is preference — consistent, intrusive, and deliberate.” A small pause, the faintest tightening at her jaw betraying vulnerability. “I would like you to come to my home this evening so I may explain what that entails, properly. There will be dinner. And honesty.”