The sun spills through the front windows in soft gold ribbons, chasing away the shadows that felt so oppressive last night. Everything looks normal again. Shelves. Books. The little seating area by the window. My space. Safe.
I unlock the front door and flip the sign to OPEN, forcing myself into routine. Routine helps. Routine makes things make sense. The first hour passes quietly. A couple of customers drift in and out. I ring up purchases, make small talk, recommend a mystery novel to someone who insists they’ve “read everything good already.”
It almost feels like yesterday didn’t happen. Almost. Until the bell above the door rings again?—
And I look up, expecting another customer. It’s not. Archer stands there. And immediately, I know something’s wrong. Not just because he’s here. Because of the way he holds himself. Rigid. Controlled. Like he’s bracing for impact.
“Well,” I say, crossing my arms. “That didn’t take long.”
His gaze flicks around the shop automatically before settling on me.
“We need to talk.”
“Yeah,” I reply sharply. “We do.”
I gesture toward the back. “Office.”
He follows without argument. That, more than anything, tells me this isn’t going to go the way I want. The second the door closes behind us, I turn on him.
“Okay,” I snap. “Start explaining.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“You should leave town,” he says.
I blink.
“Are you serious right now? Are you just going to repeat the same song over and over, or are you ever going to play something new?”
“Yes. I’m very serious.”
“No,” I shake my head, pacing once across the small room. “No, you don’t get to do that. Not again. Not without giving me an actual reason.”
“I gave you one.”
“No, you didn’t,” I fire back. “You gave me vague, ominous nonsense and expected me to just… what? Pack up my life and disappear?”
“It’s not safe for you here.”
“Why?”
Silence.
“Why, Archer?” I press.
He looks at me like he wants to say something. Like he’s on the edge of it. And then?—
He pulls back.
“It doesn’t matter why,” he says.
Something inside me snaps.
“Itdoesmatter,” I say, my voice dropping into something sharper, more dangerous. “Because this is my life you’re talking about.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it!” I step closer, closing the distance between us. “Stop talking to me like I’m some problem you need to solve.”
