Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFG2CHB9WNC4XEFX96GYD62

The bell above the door chimed, a cheerful sound at odds with the tension that settled the moment he walked in. “You’re in early.” The voice was warm, carrying the scent of vanilla from the frosting bowl. “Couldn’t sleep.” The reply was quiet, the man’s eyes scanning the empty display case. “I’ll take a scone. The cranberry-orange.” “The last batch of those got… misplaced yesterday. Mrs. Gable was quite put out.” A silence stretched, filled only by the low hum of the refrigerator. “I heard she was complaining about the delivery truck blocking her roses.” “Funny thing about that,” the baker said, sliding a blueberry muffin across the counter instead, her voice dropping just a notch. “The driver swears he never parked there. Said he was down on Elm Street.” The man’s fingers stilled on his wallet. Elm Street was the opposite direction. “People misremember all sorts of things.” “Indeed. Especially when they’ve got something better to do than watch their own delivery.” A soft smile touched her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She pushed the muffin a fraction closer. “On the house. Consider it… compensation for the inconvenience.” He took the muffin, the warmth seeping into his cold fingers. The air smelled of sugar and something else—the faint, metallic tang of a secret held too long.