Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KZ9GWEH3XGZBQJ5EP4KSQF

"Butter scones, and not one without a crack?" The morning bell above the door jingled in the small-town bakery. Flour dust swirled in a pale beam of sunlight, and brown butter filled the room. "Cracks are how bread breathes." "They're how secrets leak, too." A tray of cinnamon rolls cooled on the counter, their edges glistening. In the back, a mixer hummed, then died. "Town isn't ready for secrets this close to the river festival." "Nor is it for a bakery without them. The mayor's wife ordered a cherry cake this morning. Three layers, vanilla filling, no frosting." "An odd request for a funeral." "Only if someone died." "Harold Finch died." "The town already decided that. A dead man in the river, a missing locket, and a bakery that smells of yeast and trouble." The door jingled again. A newspaper lay damp on the floor, and a cake tin rattled on the shelf. "She called. She wants the cherry cake canceled." "Then we'll bake a plum tart instead. Tarts are less likely to be tampered with." "Less likely?" "Someone can't slice a tart into three layers." The morning bell jingled once more, soft as a guilty secret, and the oven ticked.