Run: 2026-09-23-01M36RA5M5FHE9YCQ4K7K6DQ8C

Rain tapped the windows of Bellweather Bakery, where cinnamon and cardamom softened the damp chill of the morning. Behind the counter, Nora turned the brass key she’d found beneath the flour bin. “That belongs to the old clock in the town hall.” Across the marble worktop, June stopped icing a row of buns. “The clock hasn’t been wound in years.” “Then why was this tucked beside the recipe box?” June set down her piping bag. A curl of white icing slumped across the bun. “Maybe someone wanted you to find it.” “Someone who knows I’m the only person who opens the bakery before dawn?” A delivery truck rumbled past, splashing rain against the glass. June glanced toward the street, then toward the empty chair by the window. “Mr. Bell was here yesterday. He asked whether we still made his favorite anise cakes.” “He never liked anise.” “He did when he was trying to impress the mayor.” Nora rolled the key between her fingers. Its teeth were dusted with pale blue powder—the same shade as the hall clock’s painted face. “Do you suppose the clock has something to tell us?” June reached for her coat. “I suppose we’d better ask it before the mayor does.”