Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KXTCX1Y9B1YJVSWBRE1KGG

The bell over the door of The Sugar Thistle gave a thin, tired ring. Fog followed a woman inside, clinging to her wool coat. The bakery smelled of burnt sugar and yeast. Sunlight struggled through the window, catching the pastel macarons lined up like little secrets. A tabby cat slept atop a sack of flour, tail twitching. Behind the counter, a tray of iced buns sat untouched. “Someone was here last night.” “How can you tell?” “The cinnamon rolls are arranged clockwise. I always arrange them counter-clockwise before bed. It’s a habit.” “Maybe you were distracted. The Harvest Festival judging is tomorrow.” “I wasn’t distracted. And look—this note was tucked under the till. ‘Stop asking about the Halloway fire, or the next batch will burn.’” A gloved hand tightened on a purse strap. “You think this is connected to Margie’s disappearance?” “I think someone in this town wants a recipe buried. But I don’t scare that easily. Fetch me the security footage.” “There isn’t any. The camera’s been unplugged since Tuesday.” “Then we’ll do this the old-fashioned way. We watch, we listen, and we never leave the oven unattended.” Outside, the fog pressed closer to the glass, as if the town itself were holding its breath.