Rain pelted my face and chest as I stepped out of the carriage, wind whipping my hair in a violent flurry. I could barely see, the streets lit by dying sona lamps and patches of moonlight through the dark clouds. Torch flames danced dangerously in the wind.

It was near midnight, and the windows to the bakery were dim, but I knocked heavily on the door until light flared to life inside. The light grew stronger until it peeked around the edges of the curtain-blocked windows, and I stared expectantly at the glass until the face of the new girl appeared.

She pulled open the door, looking annoyed. “We’re closed, miss.”

I brushed past without an explanation and hurried up the stairs. At the top, I pounded on the door, calling Caylus’s name until he answered. It took a moment for him to undo the locks and open the door. I stepped inside, and he closed it, redoing the locks. Then he simply stared at me.

I grimaced. “I know. I’m a mess. I promise to clean the floor.”

He blinked rapidly, as if suddenly remembering that was something his eyes required of him. “Uh, no. No. That’s not what—no. You look nice.”

I smiled, and he returned it, eyes lingering in a way that chased the chill of the rain from my skin.

“I just put the kettle on,” he said. “If you want tea. And I’ll…” He trailed off, already moving. “Stay here.” He sprinted up the stairs two at a time and returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes. “They’ll be too big. But they’re dry.”

“Thanks.” I took the clothes and crossed the hall to the only other room downstairs: Caylus’s bedroom. I moved toward a small washroom in the back, cringing at the trail of water left in my wake. I stepped inside, then paused. I’d never seen Caylus’s room before. I stuck my head back out.

It was nearly empty. Besides a bed pushed into one corner, there was a small nightstand and nothing more. He spent most of his time in the workshop, often including nights, but still. Not even a book? A forgotten teacup? The table and bed had a fine layer of dust, as if no one ever used them. And while most of the downstairs smelled of herbs and fresh bread, the empty room smelled musty.

Frowning, I retreated into the bathroom. A towel hung from a rack it seemed Caylus had installed himself, judging by the places where his hammer had hit the wall instead of the nail. I dried off, setting my dress inside the tub before pulling on the clothes. The tunic fell almost to my knees, and I had to hold the pants with one hand, but they were both made of soft cotton smelling faintly of tea leaves and petrichor. Like Caylus.