Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8YH23GRRKG7VQ19P8SSR7Y

The scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar hung heavy in the air of The Golden Crust. Flour dusted every surface like a fresh snowfall, and the oven's warmth fought the autumn chill creeping through the door. "I wouldn't touch that lemon tart if I were you." "Why not? It looks divine." "The Mayor’s wife tasted one five minutes ago. Now she’s in the pharmacy with a sudden case of vertigo." "Are you suggesting someone poisoned the pastry?" "I'm suggesting that Mrs. Gable is a clumsy woman, but she’s never fainted over a tart before." "And you saw someone near the cooling racks?" "A man in a grey coat. He didn't buy anything, but he lingered far too long by the citrus glaze." "Strange. The grey coat is the signature of the local courier." "Exactly. And since when does the courier care for lemon tarts?" "Perhaps he's developing a taste for luxury." "Or a taste for elimination." A chime announced a new customer, and the tension snapped like a dry wafer.