Kalen was gone.
So was the coin, traded for a heel of bread and a half-stick of soap at the corner stall.
The flour remained, tucked safely in the corner like treasure. Selene didn't dare open it. Not yet. She wanted to own that moment a bit longer.
Clarence was curled in the bowl again, twitching in his sleep.
Selene glanced at the door flap, where her hand-lettered sign still swayed faintly with the breeze:
"Need help fixing your space? I barter."
(No magic. No shouting. Rats welcome.)
No one had come since Kalen.
Selene was fine with that.
Sort of.
That was when she heard the knock.
…Scratch.
…Knock-knock.
The same rhythm as an idea trying to build courage.
She opened the door slowly—expecting Kalen, maybe even a stray kid.
Instead, it was a tall, thin woman who looked like she chewed nails for breakfast and cursed floorboards before lunch.
"You the girl with the weird rat and the shelf magic?"
Selene blinked. "...We prefer the term ambiance optimization."
"You the one who fixed the candle lady's shelf?"
Selene hesitated. "Uh... her neighbor's shelf. Technically."
The woman squinted. "You use hammers?"
"When absolutely necessary."
"You licensed?"
"I have a hoodie and anxiety."
A beat. Then the woman barked a laugh so loud Clarence, currently curled up in a wooden bowl, rolled off it.
Selene muttered, "Sorry, Clarence."
The woman paused. "Did you just apologize to… a rat?"
Selene straightened. "He pays rent in crumbs and emotional support. Do you need help with something or just critiquing my friend group?"
Her name was Mira (no relation)—a tall, wiry woman with a kerchief tied so tight it looked like it was holding her last nerve together.
"I run the potion stall across the market," she said, leading Selene through winding streets that smelled like lavender, onions, and mild tax fraud.
"My workroom's off. Feels cursed. Or maybe just crooked. Things fall. Shelves creak. Customers trip over nothing."
Selene followed silently, nodding.
When they entered the room… it was a disaster. Not haunted. Just... aggressively unbalanced.
The floor slanted like it gave up halfway through.
Bottles rattled when no one touched them.
A stack of chairs sat in the corner like they were plotting something.
Selene walked a slow circle.
Then she said, with calm certainty:
"You don't need an exorcist. You need furniture pads."
Mira blinked. "What?"
"See this shelf?" Selene pointed. "The back leg's shorter. It leans forward. So it creaks. The bottles roll because the floor slants and you placed them in a straight line. And you're tripping because that rug is folded under itself like a sad burrito."
Mira opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then muttered, "…Burrito?"
Selene grinned. "Trust me."
For the next two hours, she:
Shoved wedges under furniture legs (made from broken crate corners)
Rearranged the potions to distribute weight evenly
Pulled the rug flat and pinned it with two small jars labeled "hair tonic?" and "maybe poison?"
When she was done, the place didn't look new. It looked... peaceful.
Nothing tilted. Nothing rolled. Nothing attacked.
Even Mira stood straighter.
"...You're weird," the woman said, after a long silence.
"I get that a lot."
She tossed Selene two copper coins and a faded purple apple.
"For the rat," she said. "Consider this a trial job. If the chairs stay in line, I'll tell the others."
Clarence perked up from Selene's hood.
"See?" Selene said as they left. "She does like you."
Ding! [Client Satisfaction: 3.5 Stars – Passive Trust Gained]
[Reputation: Alley Tinkerer – 5% Recognition in Merchant Sector]
That night, Selene placed the apple beside Clarence's bowl and flopped into her crate-chair.
She was tired. A little sore. But satisfied.
Small steps. Funny clients. Cranky shopkeepers.
She could handle this world—one crooked shelf at a time.