"I'm telling you—I don't know anything!" the bakery owner said, wringing his flour-dusted hands as he stood behind the counter. "She just bought a few loaves of bread and left. That's all. I swear on my oven."
Elize narrowed her eyes slightly. Her voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "What time did she come in?"
The man scratched the back of his neck, leaving a smear of flour on his skin. "Uh… around 7:30, I think. She browsed for a bit, maybe ten minutes. Chose a few rye loaves and left."
Elize jotted something down in her notebook. "Did you see which direction she went?"
He shook his head apologetically. "It was early morning—rush hour for us. People come in waves, you know? I didn't catch where she went. Sorry."
"I see…" Elize sighed, glancing around the cozy bakery. The warm scent of fresh bread and cinnamon did little to ease her frustration. "No witnesses. No trace. Not a single damn clue."
