Run: 2026-07-09-01KX41KSY13C4PG57TM4HQMNHV

The bell above the bakery door gave its cheerful jingle just as rain began stippling the windows. Behind the glass case, lemon tarts gleamed beneath curls of candied peel. “You’re early.” “I haven’t slept.” “That explains the flour in your hair.” “It isn’t flour.” The rolling pin stopped midway across the dough. Outside, a cyclist splashed through Main Street’s puddles, scattering pigeons from the courthouse steps. “Don’t say things like that before breakfast.” “I found it on the back step.” “Found what?” “A smear. Dark red. Right beside the delivery crates.” “Jam?” “I tasted it.” “You tasted a mysterious red smear?” “It wasn’t jam.” The espresso machine hissed, loud enough to fill the pause. “Perhaps it was beet juice.” “Beet juice doesn’t have a brass button in it.” A small, mud-streaked button appeared on the counter between the sugar bowl and a plate of scones. It bore the embossed crest of the town council: a fox curled around an oak tree. “The mayor wore those at the gala.” “So did half the council.” “Only one of them vanished before the raffle.” The bell jingled again. Both of them looked toward the door. “Lock it.” “We’re open.” “Not for long.”