The air in the bakery didn’t just go cold—it felt like someone had died in there. June froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs, wild and frantic, like a bird trapped in a cage. She clutched her son, Leo, so close she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against her skin. Right in front of her stood the woman with purple eyes. She looked young, but her voice—her voice sounded ancient, like it had echoed through centuries.
“Mother, get up!” June screamed, her voice shaking.
But Sarah—the one who’d just saved the city—didn’t move. She stayed on her knees, head bowed so low it almost touched the floor. The blue glow in her eyes faded, replaced with a dull, sickly purple. She looked hollow, like someone had cut her strings.
“She can’t hear you, little baker,” the woman said as she strode
