Suddenly, a whirl of green sparks burst behind the sugar sacks. Tumbling out came a striped, goggle-wearing raccoon, clutching a pocket-watch the size of a pie. “Ha! Perfect!” he crowed, stuffing cronuts into a bag marked YESTERDAY’S LUNCH. Bartholomew squawked, Miss Whisp gasped, and Sprinkle-Mix-3000 jangled an alarm bell. Eli stepped forward, palms open. “May we help you?” he asked, voice calm. “Name’s Ripples,” the raccoon sneered. “I nip through minutes, grab the best bites, then dash. Try and stop me, slow-pokes!” With a flash, he vanished into a swirling tunnel.

The bakery fell silent, like powdered sugar after a sneeze. Mum rested a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “You stayed calm,” she said, eyes shining. Eli nodded, though worry fizzed beneath his quiet. “If Ripples keeps stealing, the bakery might disappear.” Bartholomew hooted thoughtfully. “Time-flutter in the crumb-currents already warps our ovens.” Because solutions rise like yeast, Eli breathed deeply and spoke: “We’ll bake something he can’t resist—but teaches patience.” Miss Whisp brightened. “A Lavender-Slow-Time Cake!” Sprinkle-Mix-3000 whirred, “Collect ingredients: moon sugar, dawn butter, hush-berries.”

Soon, they journeyed through a back corridor that stretched into prismatic dawn fields. Bartholomew swooped to gather hush-berries that sang faint lullabies. Miss Whisp cooled jars of dawn butter with icy giggles, while Mum measured moon sugar, counting every crystal like a silent bell. Meanwhile, Eli noticed how his footsteps matched his breath—inhale, step, exhale, step—anchoring him amid strangeness. Because mindfulness sharpens ears, he heard clocks racing overhead, ticking like tiny drums. Ripples was close.

Back in the kitchen, Sprinkle-Mix-3000 stirred batter, gears humming a lullaby. Eli folded lavender petals softly, as though tucking the day into bed. “Remember,” Mum whispered, “cakes carry feelings.” Eli closed his eyes and pictured Ripples, always rushing, never tasting moments, only gobbling them. A pang of sympathy rose like warm steam. He spoke gently, “May this cake teach stillness.” The ovens glowed violet. Even time itself seemed to breathe slower, like a sleepy cat.