Run: 2026-03-15-01KKS2RWWC116FBQ9HC7C34S36

The cinnamon rolls were still warm, the glaze pooling in perfect golden spirals on the parchment paper. "Found him behind the Miller property again. Third time this week." "Looking for something, or just wandering?" "That's what I'd like to know. He had a trowel. Wouldn't say a word about it, just turned red as a beet and walked off toward the creek." "Well, that's peculiar." "Peculiar doesn't begin to cover it. You know what's buried back there." A dusting of flour drifted across the counter. The morning light caught the motes, turning them briefly golden before they settled. "I told you to let that go." "Let it go? Someone's digging around that old well, and you want me to let it go?" "I want you to stay out of trouble. The festival's in three days. We've got four hundred scones to bake, and I can't do it while worrying about you tromping through the woods playing detective." The bell above the door chimed. A gust of cool autumn air swept through the shop, rustling the napkin dispensers. "I'll be careful." "You never are." "I'll bring you back a cinnamon roll." "Bring back answers. Then we'll talk about rolls."