Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2JDPADYG99SACZ7XP4MKWX

The bakery's screen door had stopped its creaking an hour ago, but the two inside hadn't noticed. The air was thick with the smell of burnt sugar and something else—fear. A display of croissants sat untouched, the morning rush forgotten. A coffee cup sat between them, the cream forming a skin on the surface. You heard about the footprints in the flour? Right outside the back door. A hand twisted a napkin into a tight coil. Footprints? From what? From who. And whoever it was, they were here late. The security light never came on. Are you sure? Could've been a stray cat. Or the wind. It's been gusty lately. They left boot prints, size ten. Besides, the back door was found ajar. I always lock it. You know that. But nothing's missing? The cash, yesterday's receipts? The pie weights? Nothing missing. But something was left. Left what? A single red rose. Placed on the stand mixer. Like a calling card. With a note: 'I know your recipe.' The quiet returned, thicker than rising dough. Beyond the window, the clock tower struck nine, muffled by the glass. Outside, a car passed slowly, its engine a low growl that hung in the air long after it disappeared. The morning had changed, and they both knew it.