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“We should be past all of this. I should never have touched you.”

“But you did. And here we are.” I tighten my grip. “So we deal with it. Together.”

He stares at me for a long moment. Then nods once. “Together.”

We clean up the glass in silence. Board up the window with cardboard. Reset the breaker for the lights. By the time we’re done, it’s almost three in the morning.

I’m exhausted. But it’s a good exhaustion. The kind that comes from working beside someone instead of alone.

We finish cleaning in silence. By three AM, the kitchen is back to normal except for the boarded window. I'm exhausted, but it's the good kind. The kind that comes from working beside someone instead of alone.

Malak walks me upstairs. This time when I ask him to stay, he doesn't hesitate. Just settles beside me like he's been doing it for years instead of weeks.

I fall asleep with his warmth at my back, finally ready for whatever comes next.

The next morning, the customers won’t stop talking.

“I don’t know what you did differently,” Mrs. Chen says, buying her usual two cinnamon rolls. “But I felt brave all day yesterday. Made an appointment with my doctor. Been putting it off for months.”

The teenager with the nose ring: “I called my sister. We haven’t talked since she moved out. Your rolls made me feel like I could.”

A man I don’t recognize: “My wife wants to know what’s in your bread. She says it made her feel hopeful. She hasn’t felt that way in years.”

One after another. Same story. Same impossible effect.

When the lunch rush finally ends, I find Malak in the back storage room. He’s inventory counting, something he’s taken over without asking.

“It’s the bread,” I say. “I’m baking my emotions into it. Whatever I’m feeling goes into the dough. And people are eating it.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To feed people.”

“Not like this. I’m changing them. Influencing them. That’s not normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal.”

“I’m changing the town, Malak. With every loaf. Every roll. I’m feeding them pieces of myself.” I lean against the doorframe. “I’m terrified.”

“And amazed.”

“Yes. Both.”

He sets down the clipboard. “The magic is getting stronger. The baby. Your abilities. Mine. It’s all amplifying.”

“What do we do?”

“We adapt. We’re careful. We...” He stops. His expression shifts. “Someone’s here.”

The bell above the front door chimes. I head out to find the mail carrier dropping a stack of envelopes on the counter. Most of it junk. But one envelope stands out. Official. Town seal embossed in the corner.

I open it. Read. Read again.

“No.”

Malak appears beside me. Takes the letter. His expression goes dark.

Health Department complaint filed by Preston Crane. Allegations of magical contamination. Inspection scheduled for next week. Potential closure pending findings.

They’re using supernatural terminology. Which means Preston isn’t just suspicious. He knows. And he’s building a case.