The aroma of cinnamon swirls and fresh-baked bread hung heavy in the air, battling against the faint, metallic scent that clung to the back of the baker’s throat. “Another day, another batch of blueberry muffins,” a voice said, a touch too brightly. “You sure you didn’t put anything extra in them this time, Mary?” “Extra? What do you mean?” “You know… a little something to put a pep in the old folks’ step.” The speaker chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the ‘incident’ last week.” “I haven’t forgotten anything.” Mary’s voice was tight, her hands shaking as she carefully arranged the warm muffins on a tray. “And for the last time, it was an accident! It was just a miscalculation in the yeast.” “Is that so?” the other voice murmured. “Well, I hope you’re right. For your sake, I hope you’re right.”