"You're gray. Sit."
Cara sat.
The front door burst open again.
Piper exploded into the bakery like a tornado in a rainbow beanie. She gasped. "What even happened here?"
She had her phone out before anyone could stop her. Snapping photos of the destruction from seventeen different angles. Narrating under her breath like a true crime podcast host.
"This is horrifying. Also weirdly aesthetic? Like disaster chic. The flour really catches the morning light."
Cara blinked. "Piper. Why aren't you in school?"
"Because my friend's bakery got trashed and school canwait." Piper lowered her phone long enough to shoot Cara a look that dared her to argue. "Dad agrees."
Tom followed his daughter through the door, moving with the steady calm of someone who fixed things for a living. Toolbelt already strapped around his waist like he'd grabbed it on the way out.
He surveyed the damage without speaking. "Tell me what needs doing first."
Cara's eyes burned. She pressed her palms against her thighs and concentrated on breathing.
Tom crossed to her and placed one warm hand on her shoulder. Didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
The simple contact nearly undid her completely.
The door opened again.
Wade strolled in with a serious toolbox and an expression of studied casualness that fooled no one.
His eyes swept the perimeter before he'd taken three steps. The same way Gabe had done an hour ago, cataloging exits and vulnerabilities.
He crouched by the back door and examined the pry marks, running a calloused finger along the splintered frame. "These boys knew what they were doing."
Gabe watched Wade with sharpened attention.
While everyone focused on the damage, Cara slipped away to a quiet corner near the basement stairs where the shadows were thick enough to hide in.
Her hands shook.
She pressed them flat against the wall and concentrated on the rough texture of the plaster. The cool solidity of something real and unchanging. Finally, she let the tears come.
She wasn't crying for the bakery.
She was crying because people came.
Because they dropped everything and showed up with coffeeand toolbelts and righteous anger on her behalf. Because Reagan hugged her like family. Because Tom touched her shoulder like she mattered. Because Piper skipped school without hesitation.
Because she had no idea how to accept any of it.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and forced herself to breathe.
When she turned around, Gabe was watching her from the end of the hallway.
She wiped her eyes and stood on wobbly legs, heading back to the others.
Cleanup happened in organized chaos.
Tom reattached shelves with quiet speed. Piper swept flour into piles while providing running commentary on everything from the structural integrity of the espresso machine to her theories about the perpetrators. Reagan commandeered a notebook and started creating an inventory of ruined items, already turning disaster into a rebuilding plan.
