Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA36KX5AGQ6ENF86ZS6FW6

The bell above the door jingled as the morning chill slipped inside, carrying the scent of cinnamon and buttery pastry. A loaf of sourdough sat between them on the counter, its crust golden and cracked just enough to tease. "You always order the same thing. Boring." "Not boring. Reliable. Like a good alibi." A snort. "You’re one to talk about alibis. Last week you swore you were at the farmers’ market when half the town saw you sneaking out of the library at midnight." "Libraries are quiet. Good for thinking. Or hiding." The other leaned in, voice dropping. "Speaking of hiding, what were you really doing at the old mill last night? Not just ‘collecting firewood.’" A slow exhale, fingers tapping the counter. "Research. The town’s got secrets older than the bakery’s recipe for shortbread." "Or you’re digging up something you should leave buried." Silence, except for the hum of the oven and the distant clink of a customer’s spoon against a coffee cup. Then, a sigh. "Maybe. But someone’s been asking about the ledger too. And we both know what happens when people start asking about that." The other’s eyes flicked to the back room, where the ledger—bound in leather, locked in a drawer—waited. "Then we’d better figure out who’s next before they do."