"All clear." Peterson reported to Miller. "Minimal damage. But…" He hesitated. "We're filing a report. Something doesn't add up."
Hannah's relief was immediate, then quickly replaced by something else.
Suspicion.
She glanced between Jake and Peterson. She took in the uniform, the badge clipped to his belt. "Is this your new job?"
Jake met her eyes and nodded once.
"What kind of report?" she asked.
Jake exhaled, forcing his voice level. "There was accelerant, Hannah."
Jake exhaled, forcing his voice level.
"There was accelerant, Hannah."
Her breath hitched. "What?"
"We can't be sure yet."He lied."Could've been from an old spill, but… it needs to be logged."
Hannah paled.
Miller nodded. "We'll follow up. Could be nothing, but we'll do a full investigation."
Jake looked past her—to Michael.
Still watching. Still waiting. Still hungry for something that hadn't burned.
CHAPTER 18
Hannah
The kitchenstill smelled like smoke and scorched butter. The fire had been small—contained, insignificant—but the scent clung to the air, settling deep in the walls, in the floor, in her skin.
Hannah scrubbed harder at the counter, her hands working on pure instinct. The rest of her felt numb.
The bakery was fine. She kept telling herself that. The flames hadn't touched anything vital. It could have been worse.
And yet, when she closed her eyes, she saw the fire growing, spreading, consuming everything.
Her grandmother's legacy.
Her last safe place.
Her life.
A quiet breath shuddered out of her. She turned, moving on autopilot, opening the cabinet near the back of the kitchen.
Her fingers brushed the old wooden box before she even registered what she was doing.
It sat there, unchanged—the same one her grandmother had kept for decades, its corners worn smooth from years of handling.
Hannah pulled it down carefully, lifting the lid.
Inside, hundreds of recipe cards—each one written in her grandmother's familiar, looping script.
She ran her fingers over them, the weight of memories pressing into her chest.
