Mademoiselle Cocoa Beans wanted to build a chocolate that dreamed. Her grand plan stood half-finished behind the counter of her shop: a dark gold automaton with a heart of molten chocolate, meant to shape confections from dreams. Tonight she cranked its gears, and the heart glowed and stirred. Then it stopped. The automaton had nothing to work from. A dream is a thing you cannot hold. She had no way to catch one, and without one, her machine was just brass and warm chocolate. The Guild wanted her closed by month's end. They called her recipes dangerous. Her color-changing chocolate had shown one man something true about himself, and he had thrown his piece across the room. If she could not make this automaton work, she had nothing left to prove her craft was wonder, not threat. The bell rang. Gwendolyn Gobstopper pushed through the door, striped top hat crooked, and pressed a candy into Cocoa Beans's hand before hello. "Taste it. Wait." Cocoa Beans knew her by reputation. Gwendolyn owned Clockwork Candies and made sweets that changed on their own. One had turned sour with citrus overnight, a flavor she never added. "It shouldn't do that," Gwendolyn said. "But it does. Same as your chocolate, I hear." Cocoa Beans told her the trouble. No way to capture a dream. Gwendolyn walked to the dead automaton and stared at its cooling heart. Then she reached into her coat and set a lantern on the counter. Clear glass, dark gold edges, little amber crystals shaped like stars and moons. The light inside swirled like something alive. "My father's," Gwendolyn said, slower now. "He said it caught the last thought before sleep. I never believed him." She turned the crank on its lid. "But my candies changed after I hung it over my workbench. Overnight. While I dreamed." Cocoa Beans held the lantern up. The swirling light pressed against the glass. She understood. The lantern did not hold light. It held sleep. It held whatever a dreamer left behind. They worked fast. Gwendolyn dimmed the shop. Cocoa Beans lay on the counter and closed her eyes with the lantern beside her head. She dreamed of her grandmother's kitchen, half on fire, laughing. When she woke, the lantern's glow had thickened to deep amber gold. She carried it to the automaton and poured the light into the open chest. The molten heart drank it. Gears caught. Brass arms lifted. The machine reached down and, from nothing, pulled a single chocolate shaped like a burning kitchen, warm and moving. Cocoa Beans laughed out loud. It worked. The automaton could dream now. Then she saw the flaw. The chocolate melted in her palm within seconds, gone before she could taste it. The dream she captured was hers, and it faded like all dreams do. To make confections that lasted, she needed a dream that would hold. She needed someone whose dreams did not die.