“I haven’t been feeling great,” I reply, and I don’t elaborate. “I could use an hour.”
He stands and walks around the desk. “You want someone with you?”
“I can manage a croissant alone.”
“I wasn’t asking about the pastry.”
I cross my arms. “I don’t want an escort to buy bread.”
He considers that. “An hour,” he says finally. “Phone on. If you feel worse, you call me.”
“I will.”
“And you eat.”
“I plan to.”
He steps closer and brushes his thumb lightly under my eye. “You’re not invincible.”
“Neither are you.”
He lets out a short breath and nods toward the door. “Go.”
I don’t wait for him to change his mind.
The bakery sits on a corner where the street narrows toward the water, and the windows are fogged from ovens that have been running since dawn. I step inside and am hit with sugar and yeast and coffee. There are six tables along the wall and a counter stacked with trays of sweet bread glazed thickly and unevenly.
I order two pastries and a coffee, then add a third without thinking.
The girl behind the counter smiles. “Hungry morning.”
“Apparently.”
I sit near the window and tear into the first roll before the coffee cools. The sweetness steadies me. I finish it. Then the second. I slow down on the third, but I don’t stop.
Halfway through, I realize I’m not eating for taste. I’m eating to quiet something.
My phone buzzes. A message from Cillian.
You alive?
I type back.
Yes. I think the sugar’s helping me settle.
He replies almost immediately.
That’s new.
I don’t answer.
When I’m done, I sit there longer than necessary, staring at the empty plate and the crumbs scattered across the table. I check the time. Twenty minutes left.
I stand and leave, turning right instead of heading straight back toward the estate. The pharmacy is two streets over, tucked between a launderette and a hardware shop. I push the door open and keep my head down.
I walk the aisles slowly, pick up a box of tampons, then set it back and choose a different brand. I add a pack of painkillers to the basket. I pause at the shelf I’m not supposed to need and reach for the smallest white box on the bottom row.
I don’t read the front twice. At the register, I set everything down without looking up. The cashier scans the items, slides them into a thin paper bag, and tells me the total. I pay in cash and step outside to walk back toward the bakery instead of the estate, duck inside, and ask for the bathroom key. The girl hands it over without question.
