Run: 2026-03-18-01KM079AMNMQE572G03ZDKMKER

The bell over the door gave a soft jingle as a tray of cinnamon rolls steamed up between shelves of jars. Marlowe paused with a frosting knife in hand, watching the clock like it might confess. “Did you hear about the mayor’s fundraiser?” a voice asked from behind the counter, too casual for the way their eyes kept darting to the glass display. “No one’s supposed to be cutting into the good stuff until tomorrow,” Marlowe said, sliding a loaf into place with unnecessary care. “Yet here we are.” The other person leaned closer, lowering their voice. “Someone left a crumb trail from the back door to the pantry. Like they wanted to be noticed.” Marlowe’s smile stayed put. “Or like they wanted us to look in the wrong place.” “You think it’s the flour?” Lila asked, grabbing a paper bag as if it could provide answers. “Because that’s what everybody’s saying. That someone tampered with the supply.” “Flour doesn’t disappear on its own.” Marlowe wiped a smear off the counter that wasn’t there. “And cinnamon rolls don’t go missing without hands.” Lila’s gaze dropped to the empty corner where the mayor’s special batch should’ve been. “Then whose hands were in our kitchen?” Marlowe turned, inspecting the oven mitt hanging by the door—freshly twisted, not yesterday’s fold. “The ones that knew exactly when we’d be busy.”