Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09JA92GK4DZ9HT2V1Z9MBV

The bell above the door gave a tired jingle as the afternoon rain slid down the bakery windows. Vanilla and warm yeast wrapped around everything, even the worry that wouldn’t quite rise. “Your scones are perfect,” the customer said, fingers tracing a crumbly edge of a paper box. “Which means somebody’s watching, not stealing.” “I don’t know what you mean,” the baker replied, wiping flour from her apron that hadn’t even been on her apron a minute ago. The customer leaned closer to the counter, lowering her voice. “Then explain the cinnamon smell near the back. It wasn’t there this morning.” “I keep cinnamon on the shelf,” the baker said. “Some folks like it extra.” “Not cinnamon.” A pause. “Graphite. Like from a pencil. I saw it on the ledger when I came in yesterday.” The baker’s hands stilled. “The ledger went missing for two hours.” “I also saw a man in a green coat by the supply closet.” The customer’s gaze flicked to the window where rain blurred the street. “He bought two loaves and asked whether you’d ever recorded temperatures.” “That’s—nobody asks that,” the baker said, trying to sound calm. “He asked because he didn’t want bread.” The customer nudged the box forward. “He wanted the window latch. The one that sticks.” The baker swallowed, then reached beneath the counter and pulled out a thin, smudged slip of paper. “I found this behind the register.”