Run: 2026-09-23-01M36RBVJH6QT9E4BXBQ12FCMY

The bell above the bakery door gave a damp little jingle. Rain stitched silver lines down the windows, and cinnamon warmed the air. “Someone’s been in the back room.” “Besides the mice?” “The mice don’t lock the flour cupboard afterward.” A pause. The espresso machine hissed like it disapproved. “Was anything taken?” “Not a thing. But look what I found in the sugar tin.” A brass button lay on the counter, stamped with a tiny anchor. One edge was flecked with blue paint. “Looks familiar.” “It should. The mayor wore a coat with those buttons at the Founders’ Day parade.” “He also swore he’d never set foot in this bakery again.” “After you served him the salt-caramel tart instead of the lemon one.” “An honest mistake. Mostly.” The button rolled beneath a paper bag and stopped against a warm loaf. “Maybe he came to apologize.” “People don’t sneak into bakeries to apologize. They bring flowers.” “Unless they’re hiding something.” Outside, a bicycle skidded through a puddle. A man in a bright blue coat hurried past the window, one brass button missing from its cuff. The baker’s oven timer chimed. “Fresh scones?” “First, we lock the back door.” “And then?” “Then we decide whether the mayor gets a tart—or a question he won’t like.”