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“Let them try.”
“Malak.” Standing takes more effort than it should. “She’s right. If you’re there, it makes everything worse.”
“And if something happens to you?”
“Nothing will happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
We stare at each other while the baby kicks sharp and insistent between us, making its opinion known in the only way it can.
Mrs. Chen clears her throat. “There might be a compromise.”
We both turn.
“The meeting is at the Riverside Pub, in the back room. Behind the wall there’s a storage area where you could wait.” She addresses Malak directly. “If things deteriorate, if she needs you, then step forward. But until then, stay hidden.”
“And if they sense me?”
“They won’t, not if you’re careful.” She picks up her bag. “The walls are warded against eavesdropping but not against presence. You’ll hear everything, just stay out of sight until you’re needed.”
Malak looks at me, waiting for my decision.
I don’t want him there. Don’t want him walking into danger because of choices I’ve made. But facing that room alone feels impossible, like walking into deep water with stones in my pockets.
“Okay. You can come, but you stay hidden until I say otherwise.”
“If things go wrong—”
“If things go wrong, then you step forward. Not before.”
He nods once, sharp and final.
Mrs. Chen moves to the door, pauses with her hand on the frame.
“Bring documentation. Receipts, health inspection records, anything proving the bakery operates legally.” Her gaze finds mine. “And Kaia? Be honest. Don’t try to hide what you are or what the baby is. They’ll know anyway. Better to control the narrative than let Preston do it for you.”
Then she’s gone, and the door closes behind her with a soft chime that sounds too cheerful for the moment.
Just me and Malak and burned bread and a summons sitting on the table like a death sentence.
“I need to find my records.” The words sound distant, like someone else is speaking them.
“I’ll help.”
We spend the rest of the day pulling files, organizing receipts, sorting through documentation that Dan made sure was always in perfect order. Every permit, every inspection, every tax payment. The bakery is clean and legal and safe, but somehow I don’t think that matters anymore.
The sun sets while we work. I make dinner that neither of us touches. The baby kicks constantly now, agitated and afraid, and I can’t blame it.
Sleep won’t come when I finally try. Just ceiling and darkness and pressure building behind my eyes. Around midnight I give up, pull on my robe, and make my way downstairs.
The kitchen is dark except for moonlight streaming through the window. The cardboard patch is gone, replaced with new glass that Malak must have installed while I was upstairs pretending to sleep.
He’s sitting at the table like he’s been waiting for me.
“Can’t sleep?”
