Gael Soren counted the loaves twice, and both times the number came up short. Six missing this week. His father kept the ledger, and his father was not a forgiving man. Gael was the youngest son, the quiet one, the one they let stay only because he woke before dawn and never complained. If they traced the missing bread to him, they would put him out of the bakery for good. And the bread was going to the family his own family had hated for thirty years. He knew why he took it. The daughter of that rival house met him at the fence each night. He slid warm loaves through the gap in the boards, and she smiled, and somewhere in those months he had decided he would marry her. Not in secret. In the town square, in front of both houses, where no one could pretend it hadn't happened. But first he had to survive the morning. His father was already asking questions. "Six loaves," his father said, thumping the ledger on the counter. "Someone in this shop is a thief." The bell over the door rang. A woman stepped in, brushing flour off a jacket three sizes too big. Gael knew her. She scrubbed tables at the inn and told everyone she was just passing through, though two weeks had come and gone. Her choppy brown hair stuck out under her oversized glasses. Eve. "Morning," Eve said. "I'll take whatever's stale. Half price." Gael's father waved her off, still glaring at his son. "Not now." Eve did not leave. She leaned on the counter and studied Gael, then the ledger, then Gael again. She had watched him at that fence. He was sure of it now, from the way she tilted her head. "Actually," Eve said, "the count's wrong. I've been buying the day-olds off your boy all week. Cash, no receipt. He forgets to write it down." She dug coins from her pocket and dropped them ringing on the counter. "There. Six loaves' worth. Sorry to muddle your book." Gael's father stared at the coins. He counted them. The number matched. His jaw worked, but the theft had a name now, and the name was sloppy bookkeeping, not treason. "Write it down next time," his father snapped, and swept the coins into the drawer. He carried the ledger to the back room. Gael let out his breath. "Why did you do that?" Eve pushed off the counter. "Because I've seen who eats that bread." She smiled, but there was no warmth in it, only a bargain. "You owe me now, baker. And when I come to collect, you won't like the price." She walked out. The bell rang behind her. Gael's place at the bakery was safe. But he had traded one danger for another, and this one wore glasses and knew his secret.