Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DVHB4H3N0YSMD7F4TG576

The bell jingled. Cinnamon and yeast. A tray of lemon scones cooled by the window. "Those aren't on the menu." "Special batch. Found a recipe card tucked in the old ledger." "The one from the flood?" "The very same. Someone wrote in the margin, 'Add rosewater, not almond.'" "That's odd. Hazel never used rosewater." "Exactly. And this morning, the back door was unlocked. Flour handprints on the counter—small ones." "Small like a child's?" "Small like someone trying to frame a child. Or a very tidy ghost." "Don't joke. Half the town already says the bakery's haunted." "Let them. Ghosts don't leave crumbs in the cash drawer." "Someone does. Did you call the sheriff?" "Not yet. First I want to know why the recipe calls for exactly thirteen scones. Twelve for the church sale, one left on the windowsill at midnight." "That's not a recipe. That's an invitation." "To what?" "To catch whoever's been sneaking in. If we bake them, we can watch from the storeroom." "And if they don't come?" "Then we eat the evidence." "Thirteen scones. One for each member of the old preservation society." "The society disbanded years ago." "Then why is someone still paying dues in crumbs?"