"You've already proven you have good instincts." I gesture to his scattered notes. "Your work here is solid foundation."
The flush spreads across his cheekbones, but his voice remains steady. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't." I stand, pacing to the window where the raven delivered its unwelcome message. "We need to talk to Maddie and Thornak. They've both experienced the supply disruptions firsthand."
Jamie flips to a fresh page, quill poised. "What are we looking for specifically?"
"Patterns. Details about what's missing versus what's being delivered. Timing, quantities, any unusual requests or changes in routine." I turn to face him.
Jamie scribbles notes with renewed energy, his earlier hesitation replaced by focused determination. "When do we start?"
"Now." I gather my cloak from its hook, the familiar weight settling around my shoulders.
"This feels different," Jamie says as he closes his notebook. "Important."
"It is." I pause. "And Jamie? This stays between us for now. No casual mentions to Sarah or Jonathan. We don't know who else might be watching."
His expression sharpens with understanding. "Understood."
CHAPTER 20
BRAKKOR
The morning air carries the aroma of baking bread and cinnamon as I make my way down the cobblestone path toward the Golden Crust. My stomach growls in protest at the meager inn breakfast I've been enduring—watery porridge and stale bread that tastes like it was baked during the previous harvest season.
I fish a handful of copper coins from my pocket, the metal warm from my body heat. The familiar weight reminds me of simpler transactions, before everything became complicated by feelings I don't want to examine.
The warmth inside hits me immediately—not just from the ovens, but from the golden light that seems to emanate from every surface. Flour dust dances in the air like tiny sprites.
Maddie stands behind the counter, but something's wrong. Her usually bright demeanor has dimmed to something frazzled and uncertain. Auburn hair escapes from her messy bun in wispy strands, and flour streaks her apron in patterns that speak of hurried, distracted work.
"Everything alright, Maddie?"
She looks up from the tray of pastries she's arranging with less than her usual care. Her smile appears but doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Oh, Brakkor. Just the usual pre-festival madness, you know how it is."
But I don't know how it is, and her deflection feels hollow. The display cases that are usually overflowing with golden breads and decorated pastries look sparse. Several shelves stand completely empty, their glass surfaces reflecting nothing but absence.
"You sure?" I lean against the counter, studying her face. "What's going on?"
Maddie's shoulders sag as if my simple question has punctured whatever facade she's been maintaining. She sets down the tray with a soft thud.
"I'm panicking, honestly. The festival's only days away, and I'm supposed to provide enough baked goods to feed half the valley." She gestures helplessly at the depleted shelves. "Look at this place. My storage room's practically empty. I'm out of vanilla extract, low on sugar, and I haven't seen a proper flour delivery in over a week."
The coins in my palm suddenly feel heavier. "I'm sure it'll work out. These supply hiccups always sort themselves eventually."
"Will they, though?" Maddie's voice cracks slightly. "This is my livelihood, Brakkor. If I can't deliver what I've promised for the festival, my reputation crumbles. People depend on the Golden Crust for their celebrations."
I select a cream-filled croissant from the display, its golden exterior still warm from the oven. The pastry feels substantial in my hand—real, immediate, unlike the abstract threats I've been chasing.
"This looks perfect. Whatever you're worried about, you're still making magic happen."
Maddie accepts my coins but shakes her head. "It won't matter if I can't make enough. I need ingredients, not compliments." She pauses, flour-dusted hands gripping the counter edge. "Especially now that Calla's been threatened to stop looking into the botched deliveries."
The croissant nearly slips from my grip as my ears begin to ring with a high, sharp note.
"What?"
