By Day 14, the "Double Life" had developed a jagged edge. Briar was beginning to find that the more she integrated into the wood and shadow of the ridge house, the more the Lower Falls felt like a fever dream she was forced to participate in every morning. She was a woman living in a sanctuary of jade and walnut, but the world still saw a girl in a flour-dusted apron.
The pressure reached its boiling point on Sunday afternoon.
Briar was finishing the cleanup, the rhythmic scrape of her bench scraper against the wooden prep table the only sound in the bakery. She was eyeing the clock, calculating how many minutes it would take to lock up, hit the grocery store for the few things, and disappear back up the ridge before the evening mist rolled in.
The bell above the door didn't just ch
