Chapter 103

  -James-

  The bakery was a quiet corner of warmth in our little town, which felt like it was beginning to fall apart. I never quite understood pces like this. Pces that held sentiment and softness. I grew up in a home where feelings were something you managed in private, not shared over pastries or other comforts normal people were accustomed to. No, if you felt anything, you bottled it up and choked it down; any expression of emotion showed a ck of self-control.

  I still had respect for Uncle's bakery, what it meant to people, and the values it held for others. I could see by the way they would brighten up when they came through the door, as if this pce had a mythical field that bnketed it.

  I stepped inside to do my daily weekend routine. I would come here sometimes for a quiet pce to work on my ptop. Sometimes I would come here to escape the deafening quiet at home. At times, it was so peaceful that I could hear my blood pulsing in my veins. For some, the quiet was calm, but for me, it felt more tranquil with the noise of the restaurant.

  Today, the usual scent of cinnamon wasn't there as I expected. It was blessed by the richer notes of browned butter and toasted nuts, giving it a rexing demeanor I wasn't used to. The murmur of conversations filled the store: kids in their school uniforms ughed softly, and elderly patrons shared stories over tea and pyed chess. Uncle worked behind the counter, calm and steady as always.

  Micah was in her usual spot, eyes vigint despite her subdued exterior. We exchanged a look, no words needed. We both felt the heavy weight pressing down on this city outside these walls.

  Before Baby and Duke saw a connection with me and Micah, so I was trained to keep a close eye on her in case the demon were to come out or she lost control. But now the demons are gone, and I no longer need to stay so close to her, but I do anyway. I don't know why,

  The doorbell rang as another person walked in.

  A man in his te thirties with slow, hesitant strides as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Without a care, as if he had forgotten how even to hold himself properly. His voice hushed, barely a whisper, as he ordered a coffee.

  Uncle poured the drink and slid it across the bar to him without dey.

  It was subtle, but I felt it... Something else is in the air beyond the man's obvious sorrow. From the corner of my eye, I caught but a small flicker of movement from the other side of him: the faint shifting image of a little girl. Not quite solid, like a mirage pying against a summer sun, heat beating down on the pavement in the distance.

  I didn't say anything to anyone about it. Not yet. I sat and observed.

  The figure was not a ghost or an illusion. It was a demon, wearing the disguise of the child I believed the man had lost and feeding off his grief and despair. But it was clever, hiding in pin sight, weaving itself into the man's life through his loneliness.

  Uncle disappeared into the back and returned with a small pastry, wrapped carefully. He smiled gently and pced it on the man's side of the bar, speaking, "For her."

  The pastry was more than just food—it was an offering, a door Uncle was carefully opening to help the man face what he was really missing beneath the demon's cruel mask. I couldn't, but I believe Uncle knew this man before, and probably his daughter as well.

  The man's eyes drifted to the empty chair across from him. His lips moved in a silent, trembling whisper, as if speaking to the ghostly figure.

  I stayed watching and calcuting for the next move. This wasn't my element—the heart and soul stuff was cking in my strengths and abilities. That said, I could see the delicate bance shifting at py.

  The demon's image glitched, threatened by Uncle's kind gesture.

  Then the man broke loose, tears spilling suddenly from his eyes, raw and sharp.

  The demon hissed a sound like static and evaporated into the air.

  Uncle remained calm and steady. The storeroom softened to a lighter glow, its warmth of colors as if hope were being swept back in.

  The man gathered himself, lighter than before, although still carrying a burden, and left the bakery. After he and his uncle talked, I was sure about their shared experiences. He left the backer a small piece of comfort—a fragile connection to something lost but not forgotten.

  Micah came over to me when things steadied, her voice low. "You saw it too, didn't you?" She asked.

  "I can always see them," I said. "But none quite like that."

  She studied my face, searching for something I didn't have the answers for.

  "This city is cracking. This is the first time the bakery has experienced something like this since our family owned and opened it. It was once said that this pce was given a sacred seal. Which is why I believed Uncle's daughter always was outside instead of coming in..."

  I gnced at a faint fracture in the ceiling I had not noticed before.

  "I know it doesn't make sense."

  This bakery was more than a refuge—it was a fragile fme, one of the st warm pces in a city growing colder.

  And today, something had slipped inside—without force, through the silence, settling deep like a seed taking root in the hollows of the earth. Waiting to bloom in emancipated dimensions of our reality.