Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1H6SRJ2VJ5ZSYWPK6MRTGR

Morning light spills through the cracked window, painting the floor in amber. The scent of fresh bread mingles with lavender from the display case. A bell jingles as the door opens, and a regular, a gaunt man with a battered notebook, steps in, his eyes scanning the shelves. 'You always know where to find the best croissant,' he says, nodding toward the tray of buttery pastries. 'And you always come in just as the baker finishes the sourdough,' the baker replies, wiping her hands on a flour‑stained apron. She pauses, then adds, 'I heard a strange knocking at the back door last night. No one was there when I checked.' 'Knocking?' the man leans forward, his voice low. 'Did you hear a name, or just a rhythm?' 'Just a rhythm,' she answers, her brow furrowing. 'It sounded like a metronome, but slower, as if someone were counting steps.' 'And the door?' he asks, his curiosity piqued. 'It’s still locked,' she says, glancing at the old iron latch. 'But the scent of cinnamon lingers, as if someone had left a trail.' 'Maybe it’s the baker’s apprentice?' he suggests, eyes darting to the back room where a young woman is arranging pastries. 'He’s been quiet lately,' she murmurs. 'I think he’s hiding something.' 'Then we should keep an eye on him,' he decides, pulling out a notebook. 'I’ll jot down the time of the knocks and the scent of the air.' She nods, and the bell jingles again as a new customer steps in, oblivious to the mystery unfolding behind the counter.