Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9BP16905EFGJ744Q9Z5KX

[In a small-town bakery, morning light pools on a glass case. The mixer murmurs like a distant storm; flour drifts in sunbeams. A bell tinkles as a few early patrons drift in and out, leaving behind a trail of sugar and secrets.] "Did you hear the latest rumor, or are you just smelling the lemon bars again?" "Neither—I'm listening to the till drawer sigh when the apron brushes by." "Found something odd behind the flour sack: a brass key and a torn corner of a recipe card." "That key belongs to the back cabinet where the old reserve tins sleep." "And the card hints at something buried in the garden behind the shop." "Or it's a trap, planted to send us chasing shadows." "If it's a trap, it's a delicious one." "Then maybe the trap is meant for the mayor's sister-in-law." "We can't let the bakery become a crime scene, not on my watch." "We won't, but we should follow the breadcrumb trail wherever it leads." "Fine, but you fetch the flashlight; I refuse to bake in the dark." "Deal—the croissants glow like tiny moons; we can think in the glow." "Just mind the sugar; a single grain can spill an entire alibi." "Shh—the back door." [Footsteps retreat; the oven sighs again, and the two return to their oven-to-pan, listening.]