Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KAST04YC4YZMX316QKCAR2

The cinnamon rolls were cooling on the counter, their glaze still shimmering. The morning light caught the dust in the air like a secret. “You’re in early.” “So are you. And you’re using the good vanilla.” “I always use the good vanilla. You’re the one who’s been skimping on the almond extract.” A pause, filled by the clatter of a whisk against a copper bowl. The older woman wiped her hands on her apron, leaving a smear of flour across her hip. “That batch you sold to the mayor’s wife,” she said, not looking up. “She found something in it. Something… not supposed to be there.” The younger woman laughed—a light, tinkling sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “A hair? A burnt raisin? She’s always been dramatic.” “It wasn’t a raisin. It was a button. A pearl button. From a cardigan. The one your aunt wore, the day she went missing.” The whisk stopped. The air turned thick as honey. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Don’t you? She had that button in her pocket when she came in here that morning. I remember because she was fiddling with it, nervous. And then she left—and you told everyone she’d caught the bus to the city.” The younger woman turned slowly, her face pale as the flour dust. “Why are you telling me this now?” “Because I just found the other one. Under the mixer.”