The front bell slams behind them.
Silence crashes down.
Foam drips slowly from tables and chairs. Chocolate milkshake slides off Kauss’s jaw onto the tile floor. My own breathing sounds harsh and ragged in my ears.
Then Mrs. Pell raises her coffee cup calmly and says, “I’ve been wanting to spray those little bastards for months.”
The tension breaks all at once.
Voices erupt around the bakery.
“You okay?”
“Holy hell, Evie.”
“Kid’s got an arm on her.”
“Thought dragon boy was about to eat somebody.”
Darlene walks behind the counter muttering, “We’re absolutely losing our fire code deposit.”
I turn toward Kauss.
He still has not moved.
Chocolate drips from the edge of his jaw onto his ruined shirt. His face is unreadable now. Not angry. Worse. Empty.
“Kauss,” I say quietly.
He looks at me finally.
The expression in his eyes guts me.
Shame.
Not fury.
Not humiliation alone.
Shame for enduring it.
I grab towels from behind the counter immediately. “Come upstairs.”
“Evie—”
“Upstairs. Now.”
My voice leaves no room for argument.
The bakery customers pretend not to watch us while absolutely watching us. Darlene waves one hand toward the stairwell without looking up from mopping extinguisher foam.
“Go,” she says roughly. “I got the floor.”
Kauss follows me upstairs in silence.
My apartment still smells faintly like us from the night before. Rain and warm blankets and lingering coffee. The normal comfort of it clashes horribly against the sight of chocolate dripping down his collar.
I slam the bathroom door behind us harder than intended.
