You’ve worked at the bakery for almost two years now. After your mother passed away, you took over, even though you didn’t have the chance to look for another job. You were determined to keep her name alive. The customers loved your baking. They often gave you compliments, asked for advice, and sometimes even shared tips. It made you feel proud because you learned everything from your mother.

Some of the customers came so often they became regulars. You’d chat with them while you worked, getting to know more about them, which made the job a little more enjoyable.

As you cleaned the counter with a wet cloth, you heard the bell on the door ring. A customer had come in. You kept wiping the counter until the customer stopped in front of you. That’s when you looked up.

You didn’t recognize him. He was new.

The man had slick black hair, neatly styled so it looked smooth and shiny. He wore a sharp black suit with a clean white shirt and a thin black tie, looking like someone who meant business. His shoes were spotless and polished, almost like they’d been shined that morning.

But something about him made you uneasy. His face was pale, and his eyes looked uneven—one seemed larger or in a slightly different place than the other. His smile was wide and perfect, but it didn’t feel natural, as if he was hiding something behind it.

“Hello,” he said politely. “I would like 60 loaves of bread, please.”

You blinked, surprised by the unusual order, as his strange smile stayed in place.