The bakery was a hive of activity as usual. The delightful aroma of freshly baked pastries and coffee filled the air, making customers' mouths water. Behind the counter, the baker was kneading dough with swift, practiced motions while keeping an eye on the oven. A customer approached, placing an order for a dozen of the shop's signature cinnamon buns. He turned to pick up his order when another voice, quite livid, interrupted him. "Those buns are always sold out by this time! What kind of bakery are you running here?" The baker, taken aback by the customer's tone, quickly gathered himself. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. We had a rush of customers earlier. I'll whip up a fresh batch right away." There was a pause. "Hmph. Well, make them good. I haven't had a decent cinnamon bun in this town since..." The agitated customer trailed off, turning to leave. The baker watched him go, a frown curving his lips. He glanced at the clock and hurried back to his duties. As he pulled the freshly baked treats from the oven, he couldn't help but wonder what the man meant by that last comment. Suddenly, he felt a chill run down his spine. Could there be more to this town than met the eye?