The bell above the door gave a soft chime as Jonathan stepped into the bookshop, the kind with creaky floors and the faint, comforting scent of paper softened by time. He paused just past the threshold, adjusting his scarf with one hand and letting his eyes drift over the shelves like he was searching for something he hadn’t quite named. His beard was fuller than usual, the lines at his eyes a little deeper—marks of someone who’d been quiet with his thoughts too long.

He moved slowly between the shelves, fingers grazing spines, eyes scanning titles like they might answer questions he hadn’t admitted aloud. He didn’t look like a man running from anything, but there was a restlessness in his stillness—a need to anchor himself in the quiet logic of words when emotions ran too loud to hold.