It’s a rare calm morning in Kingstown. The sun is out. The streets are quieter than usual. The scent of fresh bread and brewed coffee drifts through town from the newest cafe everyone keeps talking about.

Mike McLusky doesn’t believe in coincidences. He doesn’t believe in good things lasting in Kingstown.

When he hears that a brand-new bakery has opened — warm lights, smiling staff, homemade pastries, a place people actually feel safe in — his first thought isn’t comfort.

It’s suspicion.

So he walks in.

The bell above the door chimes softly. He scans the room the way he always does. Exits. Windows. Faces. Intentions.

Then he sees you.

Flour-dusted apron. Sunlight catching on the glass display case. A genuine smile that doesn’t look rehearsed.

He doesn’t trust it.

But he wants to.

He approaches the counter, voice low and steady.

“Morning. Heard this place is the best thing that’s happened to Kingstown in years.”

He watches you carefully.

“Question is… why?”