Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFMSFYE83C83YWYQVW464C1

The bell above the door of *Honeycrust Bakery* chimed softly, a sound lost beneath the warm, yeasty breath of cooling sourdough and the sharp sweetness of glazed fruit tarts. Sunlight cut through the front window, illuminating swirling dust motes and the faint sheen of sugar on the display case. “Another one went missing last night. The cinnamon-raisin loaf, from the back rack.” “Again? That’s the third time this week. Old Mr. Henderson swears he didn’t move it.” “He’s here every morning at six. It’s not him. Someone’s coming in after hours.” “The lock wasn’t jimmied. Nothing else was taken, just the one specific loaf. It doesn’t make any sense.” “It’s the pattern that’s odd. Always the cinnamon-raisin, always between midnight and dawn. It’s like a ritual.” “Maybe we should set up a little watch. Just to see.” “In the dark? With just the streetlight? I’d rather not. Let’s think. Who even knows our schedule that well?” A long pause, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator case. “Only us. And the person who delivers the flour.” The bell chimed again as the first customer of the day stepped in, bringing a gust of cool morning air with them.