Run: 2026-02-26-01KJBM438EMFDA3SD8ZFVY67MC

Yeast and cinnamon hung heavy in the air, thick as morning fog. Sunlight filtered through the glass display, illuminating dust motes dancing above the warm blackberry tarts cooling on the metal racks. "You’re taking a long time to choose." "Trying to decide which pain de campagne looks least suspicious." "Suspicious? There’s absolutely nothing but fresh ingredients back here." "Except the ledger that’s missing its last three pages." "My accountant lost those pages. He has a terrible memory for ledgers." "Did he? Because the florist was seen leaving your kitchen with a heavy duffel bag." "The florist delivers to the mayor's funeral home. Nothing strange about lilies." "Lilies are white. Too white. And the flour on your apron isn’t from this batch." "It’s from the bulk bin." "It’s from a different bakery across town that closed yesterday." "Then I should probably lock up." "Or just stay here until they come?" "Or maybe you explain why the receipts don't match the cash drawer." "I’ll fix the balance." "Fix it before the police arrive. They’re coming for the manager of the bakery next door." "And now they’ll come here, too." "Unless you confess." "The oven timer went off. That’s the only thing turning." "Or the clock. You’re out of time."