He didn’t push. He just held her, silent and confused, until exhaustion pulled them both under.
When Marina woke in the grey pre-dawn light, she rebuilt her walls.
Four days until the full moon.
The bakery reopened, because bills didn’t care about heartbreak. Marina moved through her morning routine like amachine: flour measured, dough kneaded, ovens preheated. The motions that had always steadied her now felt hollow.
Alessandro tried to help. He started the coffee exactly the way she liked it, cream and one sugar, set beside her elbow without comment. He carried the heavy bags of flour, handled the morning rush with careful politeness, never intruding on her space.
He was trying. She could feel it even through the bond she’d learned to dampen.
But trying wasn’t the same as trusting. And the gap between them widened with every polite exchange.
“You’re BOTH being idiots.”
Bea’s voice cut through Marina’s concentration. The purple-haired witch had materialized behind the counter sometime during the morning rush, and now she stood with her arms crossed and her expression murderous.
“Not now, Bea.”
“Yes, now. Because you’ve been freezing him out for three days, and he’s been walking around like a kicked puppy, and neither of you is talking about the fact that you’re in love and miserable and too stubborn to fix it.”
“He didn’t trust me.” She kept her eyes on the dough. “When it mattered, he chose to believe a demon over me.”
“And then he believed you.”
“After. After I had proof. After Malachar admitted everything. After…”
“After he had time to process something that shattered his entire worldview?” Bea’s voice softened. “Marina. I’m not saying he didn’t screw up. He absolutely did. But people are allowed to be wrong. People are allowed to take time to accept difficult truths.”
“I didn’t have time. I had to convince him while a demon was actively threatening my life.”
“And that was terrible. Unfair. Traumatic.” Bea touched her arm. “But punishing him forever doesn’t undo it. It just means you both suffer more.”
Marina looked away. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I know I should forgive him completely. I know he’s sorry. I know he’s trying.” Her throat ached. “But every time I look at him, I remember standing in this kitchen, alone, knowing something was wrong and being told I was paranoid. And I can’t make that feeling go away.”
Bea was quiet.
“Maybe you need time,” she said. “Real time, not just days of awkward silence. Time to figure out if you can rebuild trust or if the damage is too deep.”
“We have four days until the full moon. After that, the bond breaks.”
“Unless you choose to keep it.”
“Right.” Marina laughed bitterly. “Unless I choose to tie myself to someone who might dismiss me again the next time things get hard.”
Before Bea could respond, the world exploded.
The fire started in the storage room.
Later, Marina would learn that Malachar had waited until she and Alessandro were both in the front of the shop, distracted by customers, emotionally exhausted. He’d slipped in through the back alley, the same back door he’d been examining days before, and set a spark among the flour and paper supplies.
Flour dust was explosive. Malachar knew exactly what he was doing.
The first warning was the smell: smoke, acrid and wrong, cutting through the familiar scent of bread and sugar. Then the alarm shrieked, and the customers started screaming, and everything dissolved into chaos.
