The bread that came out of the oven was blue, as usual. She set it on the counter and waited. It didn’t take long. The oven door creaked open on its own, the faint glow inside pulsing like a heartbeat. “Well?” she asked. The heat shifted slightly, almost like a sigh. “You’re still here,” she said. The glow brightened. “That wasn’t the deal.” The first loaf had been an accident. Or so she’d thought. Then came the second, and the whisper in the warmth of the oven. A trade. Something small, at first. A memory she didn’t need. A regret she was happy to lose. In return, perfect bread. But the color had changed with each exchange. Pale at first. Then deeper. Now it was unmistakably blue. And the things she had traded were no longer small. She tried to remember what she’d given up last time. She couldn’t. That was the problem. The oven hummed softly, expectant. Waiting for the next trade. “No,” she said firmly, stepping back. The heat flared in response, sharp and insistent. She grabbed her coat, ignoring the way the kitchen seemed to tighten around her. “I’m done.” The glow dimmed, but didn’t disappear. She didn’t stay to see what it would do next. Outside, the air felt colder than it should have. Cleaner. The bus arrived just as the first crack sounded behind her, like something breaking. She didn’t turn around. She waved as the bus pulled away, relieved she would never need to explain any of this.