Copyright © 2025 by Brittany Noelle
THE KALEIDOSCOPE WORLD OF New Sky City spills out across the street, the carved sunstone paths catching every neon light, reflecting every beam of sunburst orange and lime green back on itself. No shadows allowed in the City, of course. Even when the Sun is low in the sky, every surface must shimmer or shine. Bridget tugs her black hood over her curls and keeps her head down as she weaves through the crowded streets. On every corner, shinescreens illuminate dozens of crowded faces as their fingers scroll down the Shine Charts for names in the neighborhood, names of the performers for the Sunrise Festival, or voting for best chicken skewers of the district, or best pet sitter, or best shoe shiner. Bridget doesn’t give them a passing glance, until her own name flashes when she swerves too close.
Bridget Briarside
Age: 17
Guild: Unassigned
Shine Ranking: 1,111th of District Five
Her photo is over a year old, though not much has changed. Wild dark curls, untrusting eyes, a grim frown. The day at the Shine ID office had been a nightmare of both her parents and wide-grinned staff coaxing her to smile. She’d refused for two straight hours and eventually the staff gave in and captured her stoic expression.
“Don’t let her sunset ya,” the office clerk had whispered. But Bridget heard.
Mom had shaken her head. “She’s going to Shine. Just wait.”
The crowd at the shinescreen balk at the low ranking and turn to find Bridget, eyes wide, mouths gaping.
“It’s just a number,” she hisses, hurrying away.
But in her escape, she doesn’t see the horde of livewire yellow-lined scooters coasting from the right. Two slam into her, three others skidding around. Bridget falls, knee hitting hard on the stone.
None of the boys lend her a hand, just confused stares. “What’s with the hood, you a ghost?” one chuckles.
“Felt pretty solid,” another says, checking the front of the scooter.
Bridget stands, her leg pulsing with an oncoming bruise, and march-limps away, face hot under her hood. Knot in her throat tightening around a tickling crackle. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, she chants to herself. Keep moving.
The shinescreen on the corner flickers, image scattering into a dozen different colors. The huddled teens all cry out in panic for their sunshine counts. Bridget hurries several paces away at once and the image glitches back into place. Each name returned with their unique borders down the list—flower petals, gold glitter, cat ears, angel wings—and the number of sunshines they’ve earned throughout the day. Some count to the thirties, and they’re just schoolkids!
Bridget hurries away, hand to her neck, pulse racing under her fingertips. Three electric glitches in an hour? She needs to calm this storm.
But how can she when she knows she’s going to have to participate in this suffocating, buzzing, neon world of performative pandering? Why does she have to care about sunshines and Shine Rankings? Why does any of it matter?
She wants to draw, to write, to find the stars. What does that have to do with any other person? Why does she need sunshines to prove anything?
The escalator hill opens just ahead, lined with rippling purple tube lights. Bodies fill the tight spaces, but at least hopping on one will take her out of this crowded district. She hurries into line, following several couples dressed in neon-lined jackets and ears blinking with sun-shaped accessories. While the Fifth District offers plenty of reasonably priced food options, heading ‘up’ to the foodie Seventh District always bodes well for a date night. Not that Bridget would know. The last time a boy asked her out she’d still been wearing frizzy pigtails and dreaming about joining the Literature Guild. A lifetime ago, even if only two years in reality.
Another shinescreen pop-up displays her face as they climb the escalator. 1,111th. She slumps. How the hells is she supposed to be in good standing in seven days? What do people even do for their Shine ranks? Is she going to have to dress in gaudy glitter? Gather the attention of every passerby with some trick? Or, damn the Sun, smile? It’s all a performance, one that everyone else has the script for except her.
A group of older ladies on the escalator behind her all gasp at her rank, whites of their widened eyes glowing under all the neon.
Bridget sneers. “What? Like yours are any better?”
As they pass, their names pop up. Gloria Finch – 65th. Hannah Dowell – 52nd. Karen Janis – 59th. Their smug smiles catch the purple neon, too.
Bridget stifles a groan as she faces front.
The Seventh District is known for its food. It’s where Dad works, though all the way across the deck. She half-considers going to visit him. But without a plan to meet his sudden unreasonable demands, probably not a good idea. He’s on a week-long apprenticeship, switching from street-service to restaurants. Something he never wanted to do. He loves serving out in the open, making a show of his sizzling onions and flipping spatulas. But a year after barely working and now the house dependent on their rankings… Bridget bristles. He shouldn’t have to change his passion for silly app points. It doesn’t make any sense! Why is the expectation to do something you hate to please others? It’s so backwards.
But he’s doing it. For the apartment. Mom’s sanctuary. To keep a roof over their heads. To keep their Fifth District comfortable life. Of course, she knows that.
So, what is Bridget doing to help?
Sitting in the dark for nearly a year. Contributing nothing to her Mom’s legacy, to the household, to the community.
Dad’s at least trying. Sacrificing his passion, hugely. But trying.
Slipping off the escalator and ducking away from the crowd heading toward the winding stone streets of mouth-watering steam, Bridget finds an empty alley. She searches her hands, as if they’ll have the answer. But all she finds are coal marks from her sketchbook dug into the lines of her fingers, under her nails. Evidence of her obsession with the dark, a sin in this City built on joy and potential and sunshine.
A group of four all dressed in matching yellow and gold jackets and dresses pass by the opening of the alley, all laughing at some joke. The two girls share a friendly wink, while the boys clap each other on the arms, struggling to breathe over their chortling. Friends out on the town, glowing under the artificially boosted sunlight.
“It’s all on me,” the one young man declares. “Got my Top Twenty bonus!”
“You gilded asshole, why didn’t you say anything!” His friend tugs him into a tight hug. “Blazing bastard.”
“You heard him,” one girl declares. “Line up the Lumens!”
Both girls hurry down the sunstone street, the boys chasing after. Their shining potential practically leaving a Sun trail in their wake.
Top Twenty? They look barely older than Bridget. Nineteen maybe? And already hitting top ranks in their guilds?
Bridget leans back on the wall, hand pressing hard to the ribs over her heart. Calm down, calm down, calm down.
There’s only one place to go. If she’s going to find a fragment of Shine to raise her rank even one place in a week… she has to see Drew. The only glowing person in New Sky City she can stand.
Maybe she’ll know what to do.
~*~*~*~
THE BAKERY’S SIGN GLOWS with soft periwinkle blues and brilliant orange neon curls—Cake It Til You Make It. Sugary scents spill out the front door, inviting every sweet tooth inside. Stomach grumbling, Bridget casts the punny sign a wry glance and slips into the white-tile interior.
The front counter overflows with cookies and cakes and donuts and cream puffs. An orange painted shelf lines the wall just behind, filled with even more goodies. Tiers of fire-pattern frosted cupcakes. Cake layers stacked high in velvety yellow and gold swirls. Several versions of sun-shaped cake pops stick out of small vases. And tucked in the center sits a large photo of Drew and her fiancé Nate hugging in front of the bakery on its opening day. Bridget beams, glad the photo turned out well. She’d been the one to snap the couple’s big moment all those months ago.
Has it really been months since she’s been back here? Bridget scratches behind her neck, suddenly wanting to leave out of pure embarrassment.
But Drew steps out of the back kitchen before she can retreat.
“Bridge!”
Drew is a vision of sunshine. Blonde ponytail high on her head, periwinkle tank top decorated with a smiling, cartoon orange-iced cupcake, her lips painted in shiny red-orange gloss. She stands tall, proud, and confident. The perfect picturesque example of New Sky City’s promise to all its citizens and those wishing to join its sunny rays. A young woman brimming with energy and meeting her potential under the guidance of the Sun.
How they’ve remained friends all this time, Bridget will never guess. But doesn’t shrug out of Drew’s tight hug. The sunny girl leans back just enough to look over her friend, the corners of her eyes sparkling with some silvery makeup. “What brings you all the way up here? Not that I mind. It’s been too long! Here, sit, sit, tell me everything.”
“Everything?” Bridget shakes her head and slides into the small two-person booth. Drew quickly snatches two cupcakes from the display and shoves one into her hands. Bridget laughs. “You don’t have to—”
“I make them for you every day,” Drew says. “Just in case.” She winks and unpeels the cupcake wrapper from the bottom to reveal dark chocolate cake beneath. “No one really likes the flavor this bitter but you.”
“Not sure that’s a compliment.”
The friends tap the edges of the cupcakes together and take big bites of orange frosting and dark chocolate cake and oh blazes… it’s the best thing Bridget’s ever tasted. Anxiety melts off her and she goes for another bite at once.
Drew wipes frosting from her nose, shaking her head. “I seriously don’t know how you can stand this.”
“Some aren’t meant for the shadows,” Bridget teases, finishing the cake.
Drew rolls her eyes and cleans up their wrappers. “Tell me what’s going on. You never come up here.”
“Can’t I just come visit my friend—”
Drew holds up a finger. “What happened?”
Bridget laughs. “Well, you’ll never guess what dear daddy left for me to find.” And she tells her about the letter’s ultimatum.
“What brand of dick is this guy?” Drew curses.
Bridget shrugs, leaning on her elbows on the table. “I don’t know. He hates me.”
“He’s lucky he’s not alone already. I’d have left right after the funeral.”
“I know I… I mean, I don’t blame him. I guess.”
Drew tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t have a Guild. I’m almost eighteen and haven’t even applied.”
“That’s fine. I mean, hello, sunbreaking tragedy. He can’t expect you to just get over losing your Mom so fast!”
“It’ll be a year… tomorrow.”
“Already?” Drew’s eyes go wide. “I mean, still, you’re figuring out what you want to do. Some people don’t pick a Guild until they’re twenty!”
“I guess.”
“And he’s only giving you a week. Hardly fair!”
“I’ve had time,” Bridget admits. “I mean, yes, he didn’t tell me about losing the apartment til now, but… I should have picked a Guild by now. I should be apprenticing or rising up somewhere. I mean, look at you.” She waves around the bakery with a sad smile. Half glad for her friend, but also scared how far behind she is.
“True…” Drew stands, scanning the bakery, then the passing crowds outside. A sparkle catches in her eye. One Bridget has seen many times before. When Drew’s brainstorming new cake flavor combinations. When her mother was developing new figurines. Even when Dad, though a long time ago, used to experiment with different vegetables and spices in his recipes. That spark of sunshine, of potential. The energy New Sky City inspires and cultivates in its citizens. “A gift from the ever-present Sun no one should waste,” the miniscreens always chime.
Drew snaps her fingers, then points an orange-painted fingernail at Bridget’s nose. “What if you work for me?”
Bridget jolts upright. “Seriously?”
“Of course! It doesn’t look busy, but we have a ton of delivery orders, even during sundown. I could totally use the help keeping this place locked down while I do the runs. Nate is already out on one.”
“Would I have to… bake?”
Drew rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Just say hi to customers. Put their orders together. Easy. And then, if you like it, I could show you how to decorate. That’s artsy, right?”
The cartoon cupcake on Drew’s shirt smiles at Bridget. Almost like a dare.
Drew eyes Bridget hard. “So?”
It’s the easiest solution. Almost too easy. Plopped right in her lap. Still, Bridget hesitates. Participating in this system feels so wrong. But is ending up without a home worth the principle? No home equals no roof, no food, no dark sanctuary from the Sun-obsessed world.
Bridget stands with a sharp desperate squeak and hugs her friend to hide the tears building in her eyes. “Thank you.”
Drew untangles, ever-smiling. “Don’t thank me yet. If you’re working for me, you’re working.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bridget jokes with a salute.
“C’mon,” Drew squeals, curling their fingers together and tugging her to the backroom. “I have an extra uniform and everything.”
Bridget cringes. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”
“Only since day one,” Drew teases.
If the sugary scents from before didn’t give Bridget an instant cavity, then the kitchen air must. Buttery bun steam and sugary frosting dust mingle in the air like a breathable dessert all their own. All three blue-metal ovens shine with different delicacies inside. Golden buns. Mini pies. Along the opposite wall, several shinescreens display recipe lists and digital timers while the one nearest to the back door glows with delivery orders for the day. The recipe lists are Bridget’s favorite, her friend’s scribbling shinepen handwriting marring the typed font in pulsing orange. Additional tablespoon of sugar. Splash more vanilla. Always editing until she gets it just right.
Drew plucks a glass pen from the work counter and scribbles another note on the shinescreen, orange letters glittering: Submit Bridget application asap!
Bridget swallows, now taking in all the bins and labels and timers for what they are. A lot to balance and keep organized in tight schedules. Several skills she never fully mastered, even in school. “What do you need me to do?”
Drew must hear the panic in her voice. She snatches a shirt from a slim closet by the back door and presents it to Bridget with a grin. “Just smile at the front. Be nice. Even if you don’t want to be. Fake it.” She winks. “Til you make it.”
The periwinkle shirt has the same cartoon cupcake as Drew’s with swirling frosting letters spelling out the bakery’s name, Cake it ’til You Make It!
“I didn’t agree to puns,” Bridget points out, slipping off her jacket and tugging the bright colored shirt on over her own tee.
“No one ever does.” Her smile is sickeningly bright. “Okay. Three rules: One, we bake fresh pastries every morning. Two, always bake extras. And three, always make the customers smile. Got it?”
She holds out a pinkie.
Flashes of their childhood spring through Bridget, lift her stormy mood. Chasing each other up and down the escalator hill. Hanging legs off District Four’s drop-off and dreaming of visiting the faraway desert villas. Promising each other whoever makes it up past District Nine first will bring the other along.
Bridget holds out her pinkie as well, a small, girlish giggle escaping. “This is stupid.”
“This is a contract,” Drew presses. “Binding.”
Bridget sticks out her tongue and curls their pinkies together. “Thank you.”
“I’m not letting you live on the street.” Drew shakes their pinkies up and down, then pulls Bridget into another sweet-smelling hug. “We’ll make this work.”
“Hope so.”
Numb with inexperience, Bridget watches Drew work as she simultaneously rearranges pastries that are left in the display cases and chats with customers about the bakery’s booth at the Sunrise Festival in a few weeks. She takes orders on the miniscreen at the counter and exchanges desserts for Lumens without hesitation. Bridget shakes her head. Where does Drew’s energy come from?
Drew motions back toward the kitchen. “Can you pull the croissants from oven three?”
“Uh, sure.” Movement helps. Contributing. Bridget focuses on each task Drew gives. Handling the checkout screen, pulling recipes or ingredients from the strictly organized shelves.
“And here is where I decorate!” Drew pulls a chilled cake from a fridge and slides it onto the last bench toward the back of the kitchen. “Here’s all the stencils and frosting mixes. I’ve been getting so many Phoenix requests; I just made a template. Here.” Pulling out her periwinkle binder from the adjoining desk, she pulls a plastic cut out from a sleeve and hands it to Bridget. “They love Nix. We just follow that outline and fill in according to these colors. Everything’s labeled. Piece of cake!” She snorts and checks her watch. “Any questions?”
“Um, I don’t think so—”
The back door opens, and Nate slips inside the kitchen. He grins at his fiancé, then notices Bridget in the corner. Confused. “Hey Bridge, what’s—”
Drew squeals. “We have our new front of house!”
Nate’s eyes widen. “Seriously? Bridget, that’s awesome, really, but uh… you sure you wanna work here? I thought food wasn’t really your thing.”
Bridget shrugs. “Kinda need the job.”
Nate laughs, though still seems confused. “Sure. Great! I mean, that’s super helpful. Have you submitted your Guild app yet?”
Drew waves a hand. “I’m handling it. She’ll be in the system by sunup.” Drew hugs Bridget tight, but even her shiny belief doesn’t mask the worry lining Nate’s stare. How much has Drew told her fiancé about Bridget’s sulking in the darkness the last year?
Bridget untangles from her friend and adds, “Just getting on my feet. You’re helping me out. Really. I won’t be a bother at all.”
Nate nods. “Well, welcome aboard.”
Drew points at the delivery schedule. “You wanna handle the cupcakes, and I’ll take the birthday party?”
The couple scans the schedule and coordinates their deliveries while Bridget glances through all the cake decorating stencils for anything she’d be comfortable putting together. There sure are a lot of Phoenix ones, Drew wasn’t kidding. The boy band is the hottest new thing in the City, she supposes. Blaring right into her loft every day for weeks now.
Bridget sniffs at the stencil of the full band, a gloomy regret sticking in her throat. She never wanted to be part of this superficial system. Everything’s happening so fast… But no turning back now.
“Here,” Drew says, handing her a portable screen the size of her palm. “Can check the timers from the front with this. I just have one more cake going, so just slide it out when it’s done, let it cool here. Another Phoenix cake for a kid’s birthday party.”
“How many of these glittery guys do you need to ice in a day?” Bridget’s nose crinkles.
Drew laughs. “I’m not complaining. Like I said. Popular. Keeps us in business! And I think that’s it for instructions. I’ll be back in less than an hour, okay?”
Bridget nods. “Easy peasy.”
“If anything’s confusing, just tell them to wait. We’ll handle it.”
“Sure.”
“And Bridge?”
“Hm?” Bridget finally meets her friend’s bright eyes.
Drew laughs. “Smile.”
Bridget does. It’s easy with Drew’s sunny belief in her.
Drew pats her shoulders, then follows Nate out the back door with their boxed-up treats and bakery-branded bike helmets. They both wave before snapping the door shut.
~*~*~*~
BRIDGET HURRIES BEHIND THE front register, checking for customers or crumbs that need sweeping. Being alone, she panics a bit. She’s never baked a single thing in her life. Dad lives in the kitchen, but she never cared about spice combinations or balancing ingredients and temperatures. Thankfully, she won’t be doing any actual baking. Greeting customers, decorating pastries? Not a bad start to earn a few ranks. She can still switch Guilds later. It’s not usual, but nothing about her Shine rankings have been usual. She has time. She can find her Shine, like Mom used to promise. Like Dad’s letter said.
They believe in her. Drew believes in her. She can do this.
Bridget cracks her knuckles for something to do other than check the cake every minute. She opts for checking every two. And cleaning. Cleaning’s easy, and namely not baking. But after wiping the same counter three times, giving the slow-to-rise cake a dozen glances in its oven, and tightening her shoelaces, she feels safe turning on the shinescreen hanging in the corner of the front lobby.
Every Guild channel is focused on the Sunrise Festival, of course, as is the custom for this time of year. The Sunrise Festival provides each Guild an opportunity to shine. Talents displayed through new book releases, fresh mouth-watering flavors, grand building reveals, or new invention demonstrations. Every creative, innovative, sparking mind showing off their feats from the last year, all in celebration of the Sun’s ever-shining face upon its citizens. Without the Sun’s inspiration, none of this is possible elsewhere. New Sky City produces the finest new technologies in the world—interwoven screen tech, Sun-captured SkyCurrent power grids, vertical farming systems. Their advanced techniques in engineering and architecture reflect in the City’s unique towering, sundeck stacking district design. New Sky City is also the hub for medical advancements, from vitamin blends reducing the amount of rest a human body needs to heart-cradles extending lifespan for the blood-compromised. And beyond tech and scientific discovery, New Sky also produces the latest and greatest entertainment in long form films or episodic shows of dramatic fantasy tales, heart-twisting love stories, or inspiring accounts of New Sky City citizens meeting their Sun-touched potential.
On the shinescreen, one Reporting Guild member with shiny teeth stands at the entrance to High Nine Park, shiny bronze gates maintained and clean as always. “New Sky City is proud to host its annual Sunrise Festival in High Nine this year. Come on up to District Nine for food, rides, and live music. And this year, the headline performers are New Sky City’s hottest new boy band: Phoenix!”
The news segment cuts to a clip of the boy band dancing, a group of five young men in golden glitter pants who were scouted over the last few years to form the most popular music group the City has ever produced. Most are proud to call them neighbor and flock to each performance they hold in their “hometown” up on District Ten, where most of the music and movie Guilds cluster and work.
Bridget sniffs, noting how yes, the five boys’ movements are fluid, but it all seems a bit generic, especially as their charming smiles bleed together so they all seem like the same person. The clip cuts to an interview with the group’s lead singer, Nix. The same one with the suggestive stare from the shinescreen outside her loft. Eye roll. Of the five, he is the most ostentatious and dramatic in gossip feeds and shinescreen channels. Addicted to attention, no doubt, like all the Tenners. Thinking their talents outshine all the work of the engineers and behind-the-scenes workers of the City in the lower districts.
Nix’s eyes spark straight at the camera, the bright color of orange flame. “We want to encourage anyone out there who’s struggling that transforming yourself can happen at any time. Life is tough. We all face struggles. But from those ashes, you can rebuild a stronger you.”
“Barf,” Bridget gags, clicking the shinescreen off.
At the bakery’s door, a tight-faced woman enters at the same moment, thin eyes squinting. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, uh, nothing. How, uh, how’re you today?” Bridget stands tall. Have to shine. Like Drew. Like Mom. She clasps her hands together as if they will somehow give away her lack of experience.
The customer seems to already expect as much, hesitating in the doorway. “Is Drew here?”
“She’s on a delivery. I can help. Or try to. I mean, no. I can help. Uh, I’m Bridget. Briarside.”
The woman sizes her up and down. “Is my cake ready?”
Bridget’s spine goes straight. “Uh.” She checks the time. “It will be in about thirty minutes. Did we… get the time wrong?”
“No,” she allows, sniffing the warm air and finding a table to sit. She wipes a sudden kerchief cloth across the chair before taking a seat. Bridget squints, knowing each chair is already clean. “I wanted to see if things had moved quicker than planned. Sometimes Drew is good that way.” Her smile is meant to be warm, Bridget thinks. But that pointed stare is anything but.
“That she is,” Bridget says, matching the woman’s poisoned sweet tone.
A silent beat passes over. The woman’s brows rise, expectant, as if Bridget can bake the cake faster just by willing it. Bridget slips into the kitchen and bites her lip, staring at the oven. Maybe if she turns up the heat. Just a little. Ten degrees. Okay, fifteen. Maybe it’ll get this lady out of here faster.
Bridget returns to the main shop, still under the woman’s watchful, slitted eyes. Bridget clears her throat. Stands at the ready for any request.
Then the woman tilts her head. “Briarside… As in, Amelia Briarside?”
Bridget’s teeth clench together, unsure whether to feel proud or cautious. “…yes.”
“I have one of her pieces.”
“You do?” Genuine pride fills Bridget’s heart, wondering if this lady isn’t so bad after all.
“Yes. Well. I did. My Henry knocked the poor thing from the shelf. One of the little angels. With the red wings.”
Bridget thinks to the glue-mended Sun Bird still abandoned on the fire escape back home. She should have brought it inside to keep it safe. But she nods, smile struggling. “Sorry to hear. I loved that line.”
The woman nods, lips drawn in. “Do you think… you could produce a replacement?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Amelia always bragged about her talented daughter. You’ve kept up with the store, no?”
Again, Bridget’s heart swells with warmth, but her gut collapses in on itself. “Uh, no. Sorry. I’m not… a sculptor.”
“No?” The woman turns toward the front door, no longer meeting Bridget’s eyes. “I suppose not if you’re here. I’m sure my Henry could make a better one anyway. They aren’t so complicated after all.”
Bridget’s neck heats, but she remembers Drew. Her cordial demeanor. Her dazzling customer service smile. Still… “Too complicated for a toddler,” she lets slip.
“My Henry is fourteen.”
“And still into boy bands? Or is this cake for your birthday?”
The woman’s eyes thin even more. “We admire true talent.”
The back of Bridget’s neck blazes. She puffs curly hair out of her eyes and keeps her stare stern. Her strange inner storm swirls and swells, sending sizzling lightning up her throat, directed solely at this woman, this stranger, willing to degrade the most beautiful talent this City has ever seen. Forget Phoenix’s shallow lyrics and run-of-the-mill dance moves. Amelia Briarside was truly talented. A pure piece of sunlight. A treasure the City all lost to nature’s cruel cancerous ways. Bridget points at the door. “You can leave now.”
“Excuse me?”
The heat curls over her ears. “I don’t serve liars.”
“I am a loyal customer.”
“Not anymore.” Bridget swallows and electricity sizzles down her hands. A single pulse ripples outward through the sugary air. The lights above dim, and she clenches her teeth against the emotion. Drew’s rules echo in Bridget’s head. Make the customer smile. But she just can’t with this woman. Not today. Not ever.
Calm down, calm down, calm down…
The woman stands, mouth aghast. “I am going to speak to Drew about this.”
Another pulse. Another lightbulb flicker. Bridget sneers. “Do that.”
“You’ll be fired.”
Bridget laughs. “You don’t know Drew at all, lady. She’d never fire me.”
The woman readies her retort, but as her eyes slide beyond Bridget’s shoulder, her thin lips curl into a smile. “We’ll see about that.”
Bridget’s bravado deflates as she follows the woman’s gaze to the kitchen door. Puffing black smoke seeps out around the silver edges. In seconds, Bridget’s shoes disappear under the smoke, and the woman is out the front door, satisfied smile glowing.
Heart pulsing wild, Bridget hurries into the kitchen. Coughing through sudden smoke. No more buttery scents. Just burnt sugar and charcoal chocolate. She tugs the hot oven door open, but the cake blazes inside. Flares! Flames spill out and Bridget trips backward.
Coughing, she hurries on her knees back out to the front, out the door to the street. She tugs the portable screen into her hand, dials emergency services. As smoke fills the shop, spills over the sunstone, and consumes Bridget in smoky blackness.