Chapter Fourteen - The Recipe That Remembered

The morning after their trip to the house, Elias opened the bakery a little later than usual.

It wasn't because they were behind schedule — the dough was already prepped, the trays ready — but because Elias kept finding excuses to avoid the counter, where the old recipe book lay.

The worn leather cover, still smudged with dust and flour from its hiding place, seemed to watch him from the corner of his vision.

Hikari showed up right on time, wearing a freshly washed apron and her usual too-big blazer. She glanced at the counter the moment she walked in, eyes lighting up.

"We're gonna look through it today, right?"

Elias rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Guess we should."

They sat side by side at the workbench, the old recipe book between them. Elias flipped open the cover, fingers tracing the edge of his mother's handwriting — a style that was both precise and chaotic, looping cursive that slanted upward, like she'd been thinking faster than her pen could move.

Hikari leaned in, eyes wide, trying to read over his shoulder.

The first few pages were normal enough — early recipes for breads they still made at Moonlight Crumbs, like the sesame melon bread and rosemary honey rolls. But as they flipped further, the recipes became… stranger.

The measurements were less exact.

Some ingredients had been scratched out and replaced with things Elias had never even heard of.

"1 pinch of midnight air""3 drops of remembered rain""Fold with hands still carrying sorrow"

Hikari squinted. "What does that even mean?"

Elias didn't answer, but his heart kicked up a notch.

About halfway through the book, one recipe caught his eye.

There was no name written at the top — just a single hand-drawn crescent moon, the ink faded but still visible. The ingredients were more normal this time — flour, butter, sugar — but the instructions at the bottom made Elias' stomach twist:

"Bake only after midnight.""Serve warm to the one who seeks what they've lost.""Do not eat alone."

"That's… creepy," Hikari whispered.

Elias shut the book a little too fast.

"Let's focus on the regular stuff first," he said, voice tight. "We need to prep for the evening batch."

But the recipe wouldn't leave him alone.

All day, while they worked, Elias could feel it — that page pulling at the edge of his mind, like a door left cracked open in a house you thought was empty.

Even Mira noticed.

"You're acting weird," she said when she showed up at noon for her cookie fix. "Even weirder than usual."

"Nothing's wrong," Elias lied.

Mira leaned over the counter. "Liar."

Hikari shot Elias a look — the kind that said, Are you really not going to tell her?

Elias ignored both of them.

That Night. After they closed up, with the bakery lights dimmed and the street outside quiet, Elias stood alone in the kitchen, the recipe book open in front of him.

He wasn't going to make it. He told himself that at least three times.

But at exactly 12:01 AM, Elias' hands moved on their own.

Flour. Butter. Sugar.

He followed the recipe without thinking, his muscles working on instinct, like some part of him had made this before — or maybe, like the bakery itself remembered.

The dough came together softer than usual, almost warm under his hands, and the moment it hit the oven, the air inside Moonlight Crumbs shifted.

The walls breathed.

The smell wasn't just butter and sugar. It was something older — like rain-soaked earth, like the smell of his parents' kitchen when he was small and couldn't sleep.

Hikari, who had stayed to help with cleanup, peeked into the kitchen. "Sensei… what are you doing?"

Elias stared at the oven, heart pounding. "I… don't know."

When the cookies were done, they didn't look like any cookie Elias had ever made before.

They were pale, almost silver, the surface cracked like old porcelain, and faintly glowing — not bright, but with a soft shimmer, like light through thin curtains.

Elias picked one up. It was still warm, almost too warm, like holding someone's hand right after they've let go.

"Should we… try it?" Hikari asked, hesitant but curious.

Elias shook his head. "The recipe said not to eat alone."

"Well, you're not alone." Hikari grinned. "I'm here."

After a long pause, Elias broke the cookie in half — one piece for him, one for Hikari. They both took a bite.

The bakery vanished.

For a split second, they were somewhere else entirely — standing in a kitchen bathed in golden afternoon light, flour dust hanging in the air like mist.

A woman stood at the counter, her hands kneading dough, her sleeves dusted with flour. She was laughing — not at anything funny, just the kind of laugh that comes from being happy doing something you love.

Elias' throat closed up.It was his mother.

Hikari grabbed his hand, holding tight as the memory flickered around them, fragile as soap bubbles.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

The bakery returned. The air was too still, the only sound their uneven breathing.

"What… was that?" Hikari's voice was a whisper.

Elias swallowed hard. "That was a memory."

The silver crumbs in their hands slowly dissolved, fading back into flour dust and air.

Neither of them spoke after that. There wasn't anything to say.

The recipe book sat still and silent on the counter.

But Elias knew — the bakery's magic had just woken up.

And it was only the beginning.