Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBGDKDK2BXB4NX5MMM0E17H

The bell above the door chimed, cutting through the heavy scent of cinnamon and yeast. Steam curled from the cooling rack near the window. Sunlight filtered through the dust motes. "You're late." Flour dusted the counter, settling on the apron strings. "Traffic was a nightmare. Besides, you know I never miss a Tuesday." "I know. That's why the sourdough is already gone." A pause. The oven door clicked shut with a very heavy thud. "So, what did you find?" "Nothing in the flour sack. Just the usual." "The usual? That's not what the paper said." "The paper talks. I bake." "You bake lies too, don't you?" "I bake bread. There's a difference." "Is there?" A tray of croissants slid across the marble. "Eat. It's fresh." "Did you check the basement again?" "Why would I check the basement?" "Because the smell isn't just yeast anymore. It's copper. Metallic." "It's the new cinnamon blend. Imported." "Sure." The bell chimed again, louder this time. "Who's that?" "The police." "Oh." "Time to hide the knife." "I didn't bring a knife." "Then why are your hands shaking?" "Cold." "It's July." "I know. The air conditioning is broken." "Right."