Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5D79598MT5MJZJ2KETWS6

The bakery smelled of cinnamon and warm sugar, the bell above the door jingling softly as it swung shut. "You're late." "I know. The cat got out again." "That cat has a sixth sense for inconvenient timing." "Tell me about it. By the time I caught her, she was halfway to Mrs. Whitaker's rose bushes." "You didn’t let her near those roses, did you? You know how Mrs. Whitaker feels about trespassers—furry or otherwise." "Don’t worry, I scooped her up before disaster struck. But enough about the cat. What’s the emergency?" "Emergency might be too strong a word. But someone left this on the counter." "A note?" "More like a threat. ‘Stop baking the truth.’" "That’s… oddly poetic for a threat." "Poetic or not, it’s unsettling. And it’s written in frosting." "Frosting? So it’s someone who knows their way around a bakery." "Exactly. Which means the culprit is probably closer than we think." "Well. That’s one way to ruin a perfectly good morning." "Tell me about it. Pass the coffee."