It was 3:33 AM, and Harmony Café pulsed with unnatural stillness. It was the kind of hush that usually precedes a magical customer complaint.

Jo sat at the bar, sipping a cold espresso with too much cinnamon and not enough hope.

Across from her, Jeff was pacing in a circle of chalk and muttering to himself. “I definitely checked the non-catastrophic box,” he said as he continued to pace. “I swear I unchecked the plague of caffeinated bees too.”

Clorvex flipped through the demon intern’s manifest with raised eyebrows. “You also ticked loop of minor regret and customer satisfaction survey with teeth. Bold of you.”

Baristopheles, now acting as a ritual liaison, hovered nearby. “The final review is underway. Once the response comes in, we’ll either be free of the summoning loop or trapped in recursive hold music.”

“Which would mean what exactly?” Mira asked, stirring tea that changed color depending on her mood. It was currently furious fuchsia.

“It means,” said Jeff grimly, “we’ll be stuck explaining the same problem to a different spectral operator for eternity.”

Jo rubbed her temples. “Like a cursed call center?”

“Exactly,” Jeff replied.

A low chime echoed through the café. The lights flickered and the espresso machine coughed up a single gold bean.

Then came a voice deep, bureaucratic, and smug.

“You have reached Infernal Services. This ritual is now under audit. Please verify the following. You willingly summoned a minor chaos agent. You improperly used Blood Orange Ink™ for administrative glyphs. You created a closed pentagram loop without a valid parking permit. Do you accept responsibility?”

Everyone turned to Jo.

“I am just trying to run a café,” she said.

The voice continued, “Press one to accept responsibility and continue. Press two to dispute and speak to a supervisor. Press three to scream into the abyss.”

Without hesitation, Jo pressed three.

A moment passed.

“Thank you. Your scream has been recorded for training purposes. The loop will now be escalated.”

The floor shimmered, the walls rippled, and suddenly everything stopped vibrating.

The magic paused.

The café felt lighter, the chalk sigils dissolved, Jeff’s clipboard burst into confetti, and a soft whisper announced, “The loop is closed. You may now proceed to the next curse.”

Baristopheles openly wept. “That was beautiful.”

Clorvex clapped. “Honestly, I respect a solid scream exit.”

Jo slumped into a chair. “So are we done?”

Jeff stared at her. “Done with the loop? Yes. Done with the audit? Oh no. That starts Monday.”

“Jeff,” she said flatly, “you’re on espresso restocking duty for the next decade.”

The demon intern nodded solemnly. “I deserve that.”

The Queen of the Hollow Moon waltzed in wearing sunglasses, a cape, and a shirt that read Ask Me About My Curse Portfolio. She looked around. “Did I miss the screaming?”

“Yes,” Matteo said.

“Ugh,” she pouted. “It’s always the good chaos when I’m late.”

Outside, the sun rose over Cedar Grove, warm, golden, and slightly confused. Inside, Harmony Café returned to its usual business of barely contained magic, lightly-cursed muffins, and a mop that occasionally sighed with existential dread.

But for now, at least the loop was broken.

And nobody had to scream into the abyss.

Unless they really, really wanted to.