Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCVGHGV4R4GX3GJGR5GPMG3

The bell above the door chimed softly, lost beneath the warm, sugary hum of the convection oven. Sunlight streamed through the flour-dusted front display, illuminating two steaming mugs on the marble counter beside a tray of fresh nutmeg pastries. "If you keep over-kneading that dough, the crust is going to taste like a leather boot." "I’m not kneading, I’m pacing. There’s a distinct difference." "Pacing over Mr. Henderson’s smashed flowerpots?" "No. Pacing over what was sitting at the bottom of the tip jar this morning." "A twenty-dollar bill?" "A tarnished silver skeleton key. Look at the crest etched into the handle." "Hand it over. And don't spill flour on it." "Careful, it’s heavy. That’s the old Blackwood Manor emblem, isn't it?" "It certainly is. But that estate has been boarded up since ninety-four. Who put this in the jar?" "A woman in a daffodil-yellow trench coat. She bought a dozen almond croissants, paid with a crisp hundred, and darted out before the bell even stopped ringing." "A heavy trench coat in the middle of a humid July morning?" "Precisely. Something isn't right." "Well, the morning rush starts in ten minutes. Are we slipping past the manor gates this afternoon, or what?" "Only if you bring a flashlight." "I'll bring two. Just save me a warm cinnamon roll."