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For the next three hours, the small bakery became a war zone. Elias didn't just bake; he deconstructed. He broke the scones down, soaked them in milk to rehydrate the dough, added maple syrup stolen from Miller’s personal stash to replace the sugar, and whipped the mixture with a ferocity that made his arm burn.

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Elias stood in the doorway, his breath puffing out in little white clouds. The thermostat was broken again, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was the empty space on the stainless steel counter where the cooling racks usually sat. For the next three hours, the small bakery became a war zone

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