Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9N6GRC1ZV4T1WM60BR743

The bakery’s front bell fades after the morning rush, flour-dusted air thick with cinnamon roll echoes. A teacup clinks on a chipped saucer by a half-kneaded sourdough loaf, its tea towel slipping at the edge. “Did you recheck the back pantry? The sunflower cutter’s gone from its jar.” “Turned every shelf upside down—found a crumpled harvest fair flier in the flour bin, no cutter.” “Mrs. Harlow begged for it yesterday; her bake sale sugar cookies depend on winning that prize.” “Remember the stranger Saturday? Lingered by the display case, staring hard when I pulled the cutter out to ice test batches.” “Didn’t buy a thing, mumbled about ‘a family heirloom that looks familiar’ before slipping out.” “Should ask the librarian—she tracks newcomers. She mentioned a man digging through old town records last week.” A gust rattles the back door, the tea towel fluttering off the sourdough. Beneath it, a smudge of unfamiliar crimson ink blots the crust, a faint trail of the same ink snaking toward the pantry’s locked side cupboard, its handle glinting with a stray fleck of flour not their own.