The morning light hit the river in streaks of pale gold, the kind that made the bridge site look softer than it actually was. Mira stood at her makeshift table, sleeves rolled up, pencil moving in precise strokes across the new draft. Sawdust floated in the air from the workers sanding beams nearby, mixing with the smell of damp earth and river water.
Darian walked past without a word at first, glancing briefly at her sketches as he went to inspect the supports. His usual way: reserved, silent, like everything he noticed stayed locked behind those slate-grey eyes.
"Morning," Mira offered, not looking up from her page.
"Morning," he replied simply. No sarcasm. No bite. Just steady, calm — which somehow felt stranger than his usual sharp comments.
For a moment, the only sounds were the scrape of wood and the low voices of workers trading instructions. Elijah came over, crouching beside the table as he adjusted a metal ruler on the draft.
"South side needs a double beam instead of one. The weight will be off if we don't adjust," he said, tapping the line on her sketch.
"I was just about to draw that in," Mira replied, already correcting it.
Elijah grinned, straightening. "Guess I'm still useful after all."
"You're useful when you don't talk over my lines," she teased, lips quirking.
Across the site, Darian's voice cut through, low but commanding as he directed two men hoisting a section of lumber into place. He didn't raise his tone, but everyone moved as if he had.
By midday, the sun had risen high, and the workers broke for water and shade. Mira stepped back from her table, stretching the ache out of her shoulders, and caught Darian watching the river, his hands braced on the railing of the half-built walkway.
"You're quieter today," she said, approaching but stopping a few feet away.
His eyes stayed on the water. "You're not trying to argue with every suggestion I make today. It's peaceful."
Mira smirked, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. "Don't get used to it."
The corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile, though fleeting. "Didn't plan to."
Before she could reply, Elijah strolled over, wiping his hands with a rag. "Festival's getting close. The whole village is buzzing already — stalls are filling, streets are crowded. If it keeps up, we might need to wrap earlier in the evenings to avoid the chaos."
Mira nodded absently, her eyes drifting back to the skeletal outline of the bridge. "Feels like everything's picking up speed at once."
Darian finally turned, glancing at the workers beginning to pack up for the day. "We'll resume at eight tomorrow. Be sure your drafts are done tonight," he said to Mira, his tone even but leaving no room for argument.
Mira just gave a brisk nod. "They will be."
---
By the time Mira had washed up and eaten at home, the streets of Valemont were alive with color. Paper lanterns were strung across shopfronts, casting a warm glow as dusk crept in. Children darted between stalls where early vendors sold candied nuts and fresh bread for the weekend's celebration.
Her mother intercepted her at the door as she was clearing up from dinner, holding a neatly folded stack of embroidered tablecloths. "Mrs. Hildegard needs these tonight," she said, slipping the pile into Mira's arms. "She's overseeing the bakery setup for the festival stalls, and I promised she'd have them by dark."
Mira arched a brow. "Couldn't she wait until morning?"
Her mom's lips curved knowingly. "You need the walk. And it won't hurt to let people see you around town, Mira. You've been living at that bridge site."
So Mira went, winding through the lantern-lit streets until the warm, sugary scent of the Hildegards' bakery met her. The shop door was propped open, spilling light and chatter into the evening air.
Inside, Lydia Hildegard stood near the counter, her hair pinned perfectly, giving instructions to two younger workers arranging trays of pastries. Behind her, Hazel, her younger sister, carried a crate of sugared buns — though from the glare on her face, it looked like she wanted to throw it rather than set it down.
"Not like that, Hazel," Lydia said crisply. "The display has to face outward so people see the frosting first."
Hazel slammed the crate onto the counter with a little too much force. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with everything being perfect, we'd actually get this done faster."
"Perfection is what keeps our bakery's name on everyone's lips," Lydia replied, unbothered. "If you can't manage a crate without sulking, at least step aside."
Hazel's jaw tightened. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the door as a tall, broad-shouldered young man walked by — the kind of person people turned to look at twice. He greeted Lydia warmly as he passed, tipping his head in a way that made Hazel's fingers curl at her sides.
Mira, quietly setting the tablecloths on the counter, caught it all — the flicker of bitterness in Hazel's eyes, the oblivious smile on Lydia's face as she smoothed her apron, the tension that hummed beneath the bakery's sweet smells.
"Mrs. Ellis sent these," Mira said finally, breaking the charged silence as she gestured to the cloths. "She said your mom would need them for the stalls."
Lydia turned, her smile polite but distracted. "Thank you, Mira. I'll show them to my mom."
Hazel muttered something under her breath — Mira didn't catch it, but the tone was sharp.
As Mira stepped back into the street, the lanterns now fully glowing overhead, she heard Lydia call after her, "Be sure to come by for the festival opening tomorrow night. We'll need every hand we can get to keep the stalls running smooth!"