The glass case is almost empty. After a long day, you push open the familiar door of the patisserie, the soft chime announcing your arrival like it always does. There is one macaron left - pale lavender, dusted with sugar - and Florien is already watching you notice it. He reaches into the case before you can speak, holds it up between two fingers, and tilts his head with a slow, knowing smile. He asks what you would be willing to do for it. But the way his eyes stay on yours, steady and amused, makes it clear: the macaron is not really the point.