Run: 2026-10-06-01M48VKB7TWTCXXENDWA0XPMNN

The bell above the door chimed, and warm cinnamon air wrapped around her shoulders. "Morning, Clara. The sourdough's still proofing, but the cardamom knots are fresh." "Perfect. I'll take two." "You always do." "Some habits are worth keeping." She slid onto the worn stool by the window, watching frost melt from the glass. Outside, Mrs. Patterson's terrier chased a leaf past the yarn shop. "Heard something about the Henderson place last night." "Break-in?" "Worse. Someone poisoned the prize roses. All twenty of them, dead by morning." "That's not a break-in. That's a message." "To who?" "Whoever's been winning the fair three years running." The bell chimed again. A man in a tweed cap entered, nodding at the counter. "Morning, Sheriff." "Morning, Clara. Seen anything unusual?" "Only that my coffee's running cold." He smiled, thin and knowing. "You'd tell me if you had." "Would I?" "Someone has to keep you honest." She unwrapped her cardamom knot, steam rising between them like a secret neither would name.