The bakery never smelled quite right before the sun went down.

In daylight, Moonlight Crumbs was a forgettable rectangle wedged bakery between Kobayashi's ramen shop and a shuttered video rental store with sun-bleached posters in the window. The sign above the door — hand-painted kanji, uneven and too small — creaked whenever the wind slipped through the alley. Sometimes Elias wondered if anyone even saw the place at all, or if it was the kind of shop only the lost could find.

But at exactly 9:00 PM, everything changed.

The air thickened, sweet and low like a hum beneath the skin. The smell of butter and burnt sugar curled out through the cracked window, blending with something sharper — yuzu, maybe, or the ghost of some citrus Elias never actually bought. Office workers paused mid-step, heads tilting. The ramen shop's paper lanterns flickered, as though even they knew Moonlight Crumbs had woken up.

Elias stood behind the narrow counter, sleeves shoved to his elbows, apron already dusted with flour and cinnamon. His hands worked without thinking, butter into sugar, eggs into flour — muscle memory steering where his mind drifted.

He wasn't thinking about cookies.

He was thinking about the house. The empty machiya down the street, where the roof still sagged and the garden still grew wild and Elias still couldn't bring himself to cross the threshold. He knew the shape of it by heart — the place where his parents stood the last time he saw them, the corner where his mother used to knead dough for the bakery they never got to open.

The doorbell jingled, sharp and sudden.

Mira Solace stood in the doorway, wearing her usual thrifted chaos — a patchwork jacket held together by sheer stubbornness, a beanie slipping off her head, and socks that absolutely didn't match. Her green eyes shone a little too bright for this hour.

"Three cookies," she said, already halfway to the counter. "Whatever fits the vibe."

Elias blinked. "That's… not how ordering works."

Mira leaned against the glass display, grinning. "It works here. Your cookies always taste like how I'm feeling, so I figured you'd just know."

Elias frowned, but his hands were already moving. The tray waiting by the oven held exactly three cookies — though he didn't remember planning it that way. One matcha shortbread, faintly bitter around the edges. One yuzu glaze, too bright and too fragile. And one he couldn't quite place — dark gray, almost storm-colored, with flecks of sea salt across its cracked surface.

He didn't remember baking that last one.

Mira snatched the bag before he could swap it out. "See?" she said, waving it triumphantly. "Magic."

"It's probably just…" Elias started, but his voice trailed off.

Mira wiggled her fingers dramatically. "Coooooookie wiiiizardry."

The door jingled again, and she was gone, boots clattering down the alley.

Elias exhaled, the silence folding back in around him. The hum of the refrigerator filled the room — steady, comforting. He glanced at the clock. 11:45 PM. Still hours until closing.

The flour on his hands felt heavier tonight. The air inside the bakery pressed closer to his skin, like something holding its breath right beside him.

He shook it off and turned back to the workbench, rolling up his sleeves again.

Upstairs, hidden between the beams and the plaster, a faint shimmer of flour dust drifted into the rafters — like the walls themselves were breathing. Like someone small and unseen had been watching, hands folded under their chin, quietly waiting for him to notice.