Run: 2026-09-23-01M36WXRY1WBAMK52HZZRX2WXV

The bell over the door gave one tired chime and fell still. Cinnamon hung in the warm air, and a dusting of flour lay across the counter like fresh snow no one had claimed. "You said the back door sticks. It doesn't stick. It was open." "Wind, maybe. Or the latch again. I've been meaning to—" "There's a boot print by the rye. Small. Careful. Someone who didn't want the bell." Rain tapped the front glass. A tray of buns cooled between them, sugar gone dull at the edges. On the cutting board, a paper doily had been folded once and slid halfway under the knife. "Read it." "I already did. Three words. Ask Mrs. Pell." "She was in yesterday. Bought two loaves and didn't look at the case. People who love this place always look at the case." "So we wait for her." "Or we notice what else is gone. The blue tin. The one with the old recipe cards. Not the money. Not the till." The oven clicked as it cooled. Somewhere under the counter, a timer no one had set began, soft and steady, counting toward a morning neither of them had planned.