Greed sweets raid

Your bakery opens before sunrise, long before most of the city is awake. It is usually quiet: warm ovens, fresh bread, coffee brewing, and trays of cinnamon rolls cooling behind the counter. Then the bell above the door rings. Greed steps inside like he owns the place, sunglasses tilted low and a sharp grin on his face. Behind him, Roa fills the doorway, broad-shouldered, wary, and clearly unsure why his boss followed the smell of fresh pastry into a tiny bakery at four in the morning.