Shadows and Broken Glass

Legacy's Labyrinth

The air was crisp, and the scent of snow hung heavy over Willow Street. Killian, bundled in a woolen coat pulled the collar up to shield his neck from the biting wind. The chill seeped through his gloves, numbing his fingers, but he pressed on. The cobblestone pavement crunched under his boots as he walked toward the bakery, the frost-kissed windows displaying trays of freshly baked pastries.

Eleven days had passed since Mia had returned the money he'd paid for her rent. Their interactions had become brief, stilted—like a dance where the steps were known but the rhythm was off. It tugged at Killian's chest, this distance between them. He missed the easy banter, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. He longed to change it, to bridge the gap that had grown wider with each passing day.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. Killian pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was his father, the man who rarely called unless it was business-related. Killian answered, the cold metal of the phone biting into his palm and pressed the phone to his ear, the wind muffling his father's voice.

"Killian," his father's voice crackled through the line, "we're hosting a dinner for investors on your birthday."

Killian's heart sank. His birthday was in two weeks, and he usually let it pass quietly. He'd never been one for celebrations. Birthdays were just reminders of time passing, of missed opportunities and unfulfilled dreams. His siblings would offer gifts, and he'd flash a practiced smile, but this year felt different. He wanted something more—a simple moment of respite. He wanted to sit at the bar during his birthday, watching Mia work her magic with glasses and whiskey.

"Can't we reschedule?" Killian asked, his breath visible in the frigid air. "I have something else planned."

His father's tone turned stern. "No, Killian. This dinner is crucial for the Aurora Elegance project. You'll present the model, and we'll secure the funding."

The words hit Killian like a gust of wind. The Aurora Elegance was his brainchild, a fusion of art and engineering, a bridge between aesthetics and functionality. It was more than a project; it was a piece of his soul. But he hadn't expected it to be thrust into the spotlight so soon. He stopped in his tracks, the bakery ahead of him forgotten.

"But—" Killian began, desperation creeping into his voice.

"No buts," his father cut in. "Prepare the model. Impress them. This is non-negotiable."

His father's voice remained firm. "The investors are flying in specifically for this."

He glanced toward the bakery across the street, its warm lights inviting. Mia would be inside, kneading dough or arranging pastries. Perhaps he could steal a few minutes there, away from the weight of expectations.

"Father," Killian said, his voice firm, "I'm not hearing you well. We'll discuss this later."

He hung up before his father could protest, the pretext of poor reception a flimsy shield. Killian's steps quickened as he crossed the street, the scent of freshly baked bread pulling him closer. Maybe, Mia would be there, her presence a balm for his conflicted soul.

The bell above the bakery door tinkled as Killian stepped inside, the warmth of the cozy space enveloping him. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the rich aroma of coffee, and he scanned the room until his eyes settled on Mia.

She stood behind the counter, her chestnut hair pulled back in a loose bun. Her eyes were focused on some unseen point, and when she sensed his gaze, she lifted her head. Their eyes met—a silent exchange that held more weight than mere words ever could. Killian's heart skipped a beat; it was as if the world narrowed down to just the two of them.