POV: Clara

The handle turned—slow, testing—and my whole body locked.

Not Daniel. The shape behind the frosted glass was wrong: too narrow through the shoulders, weight set casual instead of coiled. Daniel’s patience had gravity. This had none.

“Clara?” A voice, muffled through the door, bright and bossy and familiar. “It’s me. Open before I deploy muffins.”

Jenny.

My knees gave just enough to make the counter edge bite into my palms. The ...