Get Cookie Fplus -

Miller smirked. He reached into his trench coat. "I brought lunch."

Miller looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. "I didn't see a face, kid. I saw the method. It was the Syndicate."

Elias sighed. Miller was prone to conspiracy theories. "The Syndicate, Miller? Really?" get cookie fplus

For the next three hours, the small bakery became a war zone. Elias didn't just bake; he deconstructed. He broke the scones down, soaked them in milk to rehydrate the dough, added maple syrup stolen from Miller’s personal stash to replace the sugar, and whipped the mixture with a ferocity that made his arm burn.

Elias moved to the massive, industrial oven. It was the heart of the operation, a behemoth of cast iron and chrome. He opened the hatch. It was cold, but there was a scent lingering—acrid and sharp. Miller smirked

"Welcome to the future," he said.

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The bakery, a narrow, wedge-shaped shop squeezed between a laundromat and a tax preparer’s office, was famous for exactly one thing. They didn’t do croissants. They didn’t do sourdough. They did the "Fplus."

"Miller? What happened? Did you see who took them?"