The Vault's bakery section smelled like butter and sin.
I stood in front of the glass display case at 6:38 PM, staring at chocolate options that ranged from "reasonably priced" to "you could buy a sword for this much." The woman behind the counter had her hip cocked against the register, watching me deliberate with the patience of someone who got paid by the hour regardless of whether I bought anything.
"The Belgian dark truffle cake is our most popular selection." She tapped a manicured nail against the glass above a slice that looked like it had been sculpted by someone who went to art school and never recovered. "Two hundred and twenty points for a single slice, but we can do a whole miniature cake for four-fifty. Better value if you're sharing."
"Just the slice."
