Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94WE01M6G5QV5N7K4K1WNX

The warm breath of cinnamon and yeast swirled around Hattie’s Whimsical Bakes, clinging to the worn wooden counter and the steaming coffee urn. Sunlight, thick with flour dust, slanted through the window, illuminating the glass display case packed with glistening pecan tarts. “Still can’t believe it was under the floorboards of the old parsonage,” one customer murmured, stirring honey into their tea. “An emerald brooch? In a shoebox with antique buttons?” The other character chuckled, taking a slow bite of a blueberry scone. “Sounds like something out of a pulp novel.” “Exactly! But the strange thing is, nobody in town remembers Reverend Thorne having any family, let alone someone who’d own something so… *extravagant*. And the box was sealed with a wax stamp. A unicorn.” There was a thoughtful pause, punctuated only by the distant whir of the industrial mixer. “A unicorn. Right next to his sermon notes on humility.” “Doesn't quite fit, does it? Makes you wonder who actually put it there, and why.” “Or if the reverend wasn't quite as humble as everyone thought, after all.”