Not: Are you happy?
Not: Are you exhausted?
Just: How marketable can we make you next?
A laugh drifts faintly through the bakery glass.
Sadie.
I look up automatically.
She’s arguing with Jillie over frosting colors while Mrs. Bellamy watches like it’s live television.
Warmth hits my chest so suddenly it almost hurts.
“Colby?” Marcus snaps. “You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“This is huge.”
“I know.”
“You sound weird.”
“I just woke up.”
“That’s a lie. You’ve been awake for hours. Your small-town bakery girlfriend posts before dawn.”
I grimace.
The internet has entirely too much information about my life now.
“She’s not posting me.”
“No, she’s posting cinnamon rolls while half the country zooms in looking for your reflection.”
Fantastic.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “What does Frostholm think?”
“They’re willing to talk.”
That lands harder than I expect.
Because Frostholm used to feel permanent.
The arena.
The city.
The life.
Now the thought of leaving barely stirs anything except tiredness.
Marcus lowers his voice slightly. “This is what you wanted six months ago.”
He’s right.
