Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ92MQ4DKQ8TYHFFACS3HXC

The bell above the door chimed as the last customer shuffled out into the drizzly afternoon. The warm scent of cinnamon and brown butter hung in the air like a comfortable old blanket. "Did you hear about Franklin Marsh finding that lockbox under his floorboards?" "Everyone's heard. The question is what was *in* it." A tray of cooling scones slid onto the counter with a soft clatter. "Margaret at the post office says it was letters. Old ones, tied up with ribbon." "Margaret at the post office says a great many things." "She's right more often than not, you have to admit." The oven door swung open, releasing a fresh wave of warmth into the small shop. A silence settled between them, the comfortable kind that only comes with years of familiarity. "Franklin looked pale as my shortbread when he walked past this morning." "You were watching from the window again." "I was *checking the weather.*" A small laugh broke through. "Whatever was in that box, it's rattled him something fierce. Man's lived in that house forty years. Whatever's been sleeping under those floorboards has been sleeping a long time." "Until now."