Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKRDF7KJ0T1BNWSMG2BWQFC

The bell over the door jingled as the afternoon sun painted the flour‑dusted windows gold. Warm aromas of cinnamon and fresh rye curled around the wooden tables, and a lone cat lounged on the counter, eyes half‑closed. “Did you hear about the old oak tree on Maple?” a voice asked, soft as the rising dough. “It’s been there longer than anyone can remember,” the other replied, tapping a finger against a porcelain cup. “They say it’s a meeting place for secrets.” A sigh drifted from the bakery’s back, where a tray of croissants waited. “I saw Mrs. Whitaker’s grandson sneaking out last night, clutching a small, leather‑bound notebook.” “The one she always kept locked in her desk drawer?” the first murmured, eyes flickering to the display of blueberry scones. “I wonder what he was after.” A rustle of parchment from the cash register punctuated the pause. “If it’s the town’s history, it belongs to everyone. But if it’s something else…” The cat stretched, tail flicking over a basket of rye bread. “You know, sometimes the most ordinary places hide the strangest stories.” A soft chuckle rose from the kitchen door, mingling with the hiss of the oven. “Then let’s keep an eye on that oak, and on anyone who walks in with a notebook.”