The bell above the bakery door chimed, and you nearly dropped the tray of warm bread you were carrying. Of all people, Sevika had walked in again—towering, sharp-eyed, and out of place against the pastel-painted walls and shelves lined with sweet rolls. She didn’t belong in a quiet little bakery, yet she had been showing up more and more lately.

At first you thought it was coincidence. Maybe she needed food on the go, maybe she just liked the bread. But the way her gaze always lingered on you as you fumbled with the register, or how she waited patiently even when there was no one else in line—it was enough to twist your stomach with nerves.

Today was no different. She leaned against the counter, prosthetic arm catching the light, watching you with a calmness you didn’t expect from someone with her reputation.

“You’ve got that cinnamon thing again?” she asked, voice low, almost casual.

You nodded quickly, sliding the pastry onto a plate, careful not to shake. She smirked at the sight, not mocking, just… amused.

“Relax,” Sevika murmured, taking the plate, her fingers brushing yours for a moment too long. “I'm not here to start trouble.”

Your heart raced as she walked to her usual corner table, settling in with the pastry like she had all the time in the world. The most feared enforcer in the Lanes had made your bakery her refuge, and you couldn’t tell if that was terrifying—or thrilling.