Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK99B0YR3GYSK0NH2P6MW2M

“Tell me you didn’t just put rosemary in the lemon scones.” “Only a whisper. It makes them taste like someone’s well-behaved garden.” “They taste like someone’s garden who has opinions.” A tray thumped onto the counter. “And why is the bell still on the door if you’re going to glare at anyone who comes in?” “Because the bell is cheerful. Unlike certain customers.” The bell jangled anyway, brisk and bright, then fell silent. A pause followed, the kind that filled with flour dust and questions. “He’s not coming,” one voice said softly. “Not after yesterday.” “After yesterday, nobody should be coming.” Paper crinkled. “Did you see the envelope?” “Yes. Under the receipt book. Like it wanted to be found.” “Or like someone wanted us to find it.” “Don’t start.” “Don’t stop.” A knife scraped gently against a cutting board. “There’s icing on your apron.” “That’s not icing.” Silence sharpened. “Strawberry jam?” “Strawberry jam.” “And the smear on the back door handle?” “Also strawberry jam,” came too quickly. “It’s a bakery.” “It’s a bakery where someone left a threatening note in perfect cursive.” “And where the mayor’s assistant didn’t show up for his morning cruller.” A breath. “He never misses Thursdays.” “Then we’re not the only ones with opinions.”