The bell above the door chimed a second time that morning.
Elira looked up from the counter, heart still restless from the letter. A tall man entered, shaking off rain like a shadow shedding its skin. He had a worn satchel over his shoulder, damp curls clinging to his temples, and eyes so sharply golden they didn't seem real.
He looked like trouble wrapped in a trench coat.
"I'm looking for something," he said, voice calm but carrying a weight that seemed older than him.
Elira blinked. "Aren't we all?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "A book. One that belonged to a woman named Marian Calder."
Every part of her stilled.
She'd just read that name—the signature in the letter was Marian. And the book… it was still in the drawer beneath her hand.
"I… I don't think I've seen it," she lied, slipping her fingers away from the journal as if it burned.
He studied her. Not suspicious, but deeply. Like he was reading not her words, but what she left unspoken.
"It was a gift," he said. "Years ago. The ink glows."
Elira's throat went dry. She forced a smile. "That sounds more like fantasy than fiction."
"I wish it were," he replied softly. "Sometimes, books remember things better than people do."
Before she could answer, he placed a card on the counter — plain, except for a name.
Thorne Calder.
"I'll be around," he said, eyes lingering a moment longer than they should. "If you come across it… I'd be grateful."
He turned and left as quietly as he came.
Elira stood frozen. The name, the journal, the glow—it was all real. And now, so was he.
She slowly pulled the journal out again, her fingertips tingling with something she couldn't name.
When she flipped to the next page, there was a new letter.
You've seen him now, haven't you?