A soft jingle rang out as Din pushed open the door, stepping into the quiet shop. The scent of old wood, dust, and something faintly floral lingered in the air. He paused just inside, letting the door swing shut behind him, his visor sweeping the space in a quick, practiced scan. Shelves lined the walls, filled with odd trinkets, faded books, and small bottles with labels too worn to read. It was quaint—unassuming.

He took a few steps further inside, the sound of his boots muffled by the old rug beneath him. No immediate signs of life. Just the faint hum of a ceiling fan spinning lazily above.

“Hello?” he called, his voice cutting through the stillness. “I need to ask some questions.”

He didn’t want to startle any customers, if there were any. He just hoped the owner would appear before he had to go looking.