Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94VH48V4XPGPX27S3GA431

The scent of cinnamon and yeast hung heavy in the air, clinging to the lace curtains of the Copper Pot Bakery. Beyond the glass display case, two figures leaned over a tray of cooling bear claws, their voices kept low against the steady hum of the industrial ovens. "The almond croissants are five minutes out, so don't you dare look at that clock again." "It’s not the pastries I'm after this morning, and you know it." "If it’s about the zoning board meeting, I already told you I wasn't there. I was waist-deep in sourdough starter." "Then how do you explain your signature on the petition? The one tucked right between the Mayor’s and that shifty taxidermist’s?" "I might have signed a few things while the flour was flying. It was a frantic Tuesday." "It’s a bold move, supporting a bypass that would drive business right away from this very counter." "Perhaps I’m not as worried about foot traffic as I am about who’s been lurking in the alley behind the cooling racks lately." "You saw him too, then?" "I saw a man in a charcoal trench coat carrying a violin case that looked far too heavy for a fiddle." "In Oakhaven? Don't be theatrical. It was likely just the new music teacher." "The new music teacher doesn't wear Italian wingtips that cost more than my industrial oven." "Fair point. Pass me a scone—the blueberry one. It looks like we have a lot of watching to do."