The bell above the door jingled softly as a figure slipped inside, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked bread. The bakery was cozy, its walls lined with shelves of neat, packed jars and baskets overflowing with flour and sugar. "Morning, Nancy!" a voice called from behind the counter, warm and cheerful. "Morning, Edith," came the reply, a hint of tension in the words. Nancy, the town's gossip and baker extraordinaire, wiped her hands on her apron and scanned the room. A young woman, new in town, sat at one of the small, round tables, a book open before her. Nancy approached, her expression softening. "Can I get you anything else, dear?" she asked, her voice gentler. The young woman looked up, startled. "Oh, no, thank you. Just enjoying my coffee." A flicker of movement caught Nancy's eye. A shadowy figure darted across the back alley, barely visible through the dusty window. She tensed, her gaze shifting to the door that led to the small storeroom. "You sure?" she pressed, her voice barely a whisper. The young woman nodded, eyes wide and oblivious. Nancy hesitated, then nodded back, retreating to the counter with a worried glance.