Chef Crumbs stepped into the Square carrying a tray of fresh chocolate-chip cookies.

“Freshly baked,” he said. “One at a time, please.”

He said it with the calm confidence of someone setting a boundary he had already watched fail many times.

Chip stopped in front of the tray.

“I was only going to take one.”

His hand moved closer.

Chef Crumbs raised one eyebrow.

Chip’s fingers paused above the cookies.

“I have not technically taken anything yet.”

“That is true,” Chef Crumbs said.

Chip smiled, encouraged by what he believed was legal progress.

Chef Crumbs steadied the tray.

“This is why I made two batches.”

Before Chip could decide whether that meant permission, a soft metallic rattle came from the workshop.

A small wheeled contraption rolled into the Square.

Socks followed closely behind it, wearing the proud expression of an inventor who had not yet considered every possible outcome.

Chip forgot the cookie.

For the moment.