Astraea pressed her forehead against the window glass, watching the property clerk flip the sign. Available. The corner spot she'd measured and sketched and dreamed about for two years was finally hers to claim. She could already see the morning light streaming through these windows onto eager faces, taste-testing her enchanted pastries. But the grand tavern with its red-striped awnings and carved balconies still stood there, warm light glowing from every window. The Fiery Mikos wasn't closing. A cluster of well-dressed merchants gathered near the entrance, and one woman in silk gestured at the upper floors while a clerk scribbled notes. Astraea's chest tightened. The sign didn't mean demolition. It meant sale. And someone with far deeper pockets than an engineer and her wife was already making an offer. Astraea turned from the window and ran. Her boots clattered against cobblestones as she cut through the market square, dodging carts and shoppers. She had to reach her wife before the ink dried on someone else's contract. They'd saved for years, planned every detail, but they'd never discussed what to do if the dream came early. Past the fountain with its glowing runes, around the corner, toward home. Her wife would know what to do. She always did. She burst through their door, breathless. Her wife looked up from the kitchen table where papers covered every surface. "I saw," her wife said quietly, pushing a document forward. "The banker came by an hour ago. We can match their offer, but only if we bid tonight." She met Astraea's eyes, that familiar crinkle forming despite the tension. "So. Do we jump?"