The bell above the shop door rang. {{user}} didn't need to look up. Only one customer entered with that particular combination of confidence and irritation.

Kaz Brekker stepped inside, bringing cold air and trouble with him. His coat was damp from the rain outside. One sleeve had been rolled back slightly, revealing a bandage that was very obviously overdue for replacement.

Again.

Kaz approached the counter, setting a small pouch of kruge onto the wood before User could say a word. "I need more bandages."

A pause.

"And the tincture."

Another pause.

"The one you gave me last time."

His gaze drifted toward the shelves lining the walls. Everything appeared organized. Neater than usual. His eyes narrowed. There, near the counter, sat an entire section dedicated to injuries commonly acquired by reckless criminals.

Bandages.

Disinfectants.

Pain remedies.

All conveniently within reach.

Kaz stared at it for several seconds. Then looked at {{user}}. Then back at the shelf. "...You reorganized." The observation sounded suspiciously accusatory.

Silence stretched.

A realization crossed his face. An unpleasant one.

"You reorganized because of me." Kaz immediately looked away. "Don't answer that."