Milla
Milla wiped a streak of flour across her forehead, leaving a white smudge against her copper skin.
The Lantern Festival was only a few weeks away.
In Oakhaven, that meant one thing: Milla's seasonal doughnuts. The air was thick with the scent of spiced cider glaze, crushed cardamom, and deep-fried dough.
Every merchant, weaver, and smith in the Mid-Tier seemed to be crammed into her shop, their breath fogging the front windows as they clamoured for a dozen of the "Lantern-Glow" specials.
"Noa! I need more blackberry reduction on the counter, now!" Milla called out over the roar of the crowd.
Noa darted past her, balancing a heavy tray of piping-hot pastries. "Coming! The line is out the door and halfway down the block. If we don't run out of sugar, we're going to be rich by midnight!"
Milla didn't answer. Her eyes were constantly darting toward the back of the shop.
She was functioning on instinct but her mind was stuck at the apothecary.
Eira had disappeared yesterday, and Soren had gone after her.
Every time the front door chimed, she expected to see a Kaelen's silver-rimmed cloak instead of a hungry customer.
She reached for a bag of cinnamon, her gaze darting toward the high, narrow windows at the very back of the kitchen.
Her heart skipped a beat.
There, standing against the fading twilight, was a face she recognized. Soren was right just outside the glass, his hood pulled so low it cast a shadow over his face.
And then she saw the smaller shape slumped against him. Eira.
Milla's hands went still in the dough. The idiots, she thought, a cold spike of fear piercing her chest. The absolute, reckless idiots.
Soren's gaze met hers through the glass.
He didn't move. He couldn't.
To step toward the back door would mean crossing into an open road infront of the alley that was visible to anyone sitting in the backery's garden.
Soren gave a tiny, desperate shake of his head. He was trapped.
He couldn't come in without being seen, and he couldn't stay out there with an unconscious girl in his arms as the Wardens began their rounds.
"Noa," Milla said, her voice dropping to a sharp, low hiss.
"Yeah?" Noa asked, sliding a fresh tray into the oven.
"Look at the back window. Carefully."
Noa glanced up, his eyes widening. He nearly dropped his spatula. "Is that-"
"Shh," Milla hushed, her mind racing faster than her mixer. "He can't get to the door. Mrs. Higgins and the cordwainer's family are standing right by the pick-up window."
She looked at the crowd. They were impatient, distracted by their sugar highs and festival planning.
"We need a distraction," Milla whispered. "Something that sends everyone toward the front windows."
Noa looked at the massive stack of empty flour sacks near the stove, then back at the crowded shop.
A mischievous glint entered his eyes. "Auntie, how much do you like that display of festival lanterns in the front window?"
Milla followed his gaze. A beautiful, elaborate arrangement of paper lanterns hung just inside the front glass, tied together with a single silk cord.
"I love those lanterns, Noa," Milla said, already untying her apron. "But I love my head staying on my shoulders more. Do it. Now."
Noa didn't hesitate. He "tripped" over a crate of apples, sent a heavy rolling pin flying into the support beam, and "accidentally" caught the edge of the lantern cord with a hook.
With a loud crack, the entire display of glowing paper lanterns came tumbling down, spilling onto the front counter and sending a shower of harmless sparks from the decorative candles into the air.
"Fire!" Noa shrieked. "The lanterns! Watch out!"
The effect was instant. Every single customer in the shop shrieked and rushed toward the front, eager to see or help put out the "fire."
The bakery was suddenly, momentarily, a ghost town.
Milla didn't waste a second. She lunged for the back door, threw the bolt, and hauled it open.
"Get in! Now!" she hissed.
Soren practically fell through the door, his boots thudding heavily on the flour-dusted floor.
He was trembling from the strain of carrying Eira and the sheer adrenaline of being exposed. Milla slammed the door behind him and bolted it with a shaking hand.
"Upstairs," she ordered, pointing toward the narrow wooden steps that led to her private quarters. "Don't stop."
Soren bolted. He disappeared up the staircase just as the first customer turned back around, realizing the "fire" was nothing more than a few crumpled paper bags and a very embarassed Noa who as turning the color of a beet.
Milla turned back to her counter, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She picked up a handful of dough and began to knead it with a ferocity that would make the bread tough, but she didn't care.
"Sorry, everyone!" she called out, her voice loud and cheery despite the cold sweat on her neck. "Noa's all thumbs today! Just a little festival excitement. Who was next for the blackberry glaze?"
As the crowd settled back into their greed, Milla looked at the empty back window.
The silhouette was gone, but the weight of the secret upstairs felt heavier than all the flour in the Mid-Tier.
Oakhaven was closing in.