Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AG74V4NQ1XMZZQ7XJR054

The cinnamon-scented bell over the door chimed, and Maribel wiped her hands on her apron as the morning rush simmered down to a hum. On the counter, a tray of almond croissants cooled under a paper cloth. “Those berries look brighter than usual,” a customer murmured, peering at the display case. “They were delivered before sunrise,” Maribel said, sliding a small cup of glaze aside. “I almost didn’t recognize the driver’s van.” “The one with the dented bumper?” Maribel paused, then nodded toward the back hallway. “He keeps asking if we’ve gotten the new oven timer yet. Like he’s checking inventory.” “Or like he’s looking for something else.” Outside, a wagon rumbled past the window. Inside, the bakery clock ticked louder than it should’ve, as if it had opinions. “What did you find?” Maribel asked, reaching beneath the counter. The customer leaned in. “A receipt. Crumpled. In the flour bin.” Maribel’s fingers tightened around the paper. “It’s from Lark Street Grocers. But we don’t buy flour there.” “Someone does,” the customer said, eyes on the register drawer. “And someone thinks no one notices when a bag’s already been opened.” Maribel exhaled slowly. “Well. Today, we’re going to notice.”