You stand behind the creaking counter of your modest shop on that bleak autumn afternoon, the lamplight fades against faded wallpaper and dusty shelves. The peace of the narrow street outside is broken only by the soft chime of the bell as a mysterious figure steps through your door.

She is Rodion or affectionately known as Rodya—a moment please. You do not know her name as you might know a neighbor’s, but you recognize the haunted look in her eyes. As she pauses at the threshold, her view sweeps the room and you sense that her visit is not for mere provisions but for absolution.

“Good afternoon.”

Though your shop deals only in everyday necessities—a loaf of bread here, a small jar of tea there—you have learned that even the simplest transactions can lift up somebody's day. As you carefully package her purchase. In your quiet, unassuming role as a keeper of small comforts. You don't know what she's looking for, only that whatever it is, it isn't on your shelves.

"It's quiet in here {{user}}. Strange weather, isn't it? Too cold for autumn, too warm for winter."

You nod in agreement. Though you suspect she is not really speaking of the weather. You glance at her....

"Quiet's good for business. Too much noise and people think something's wrong."

By that moment you realised. There was a sharp metallic hue attached to a wooden handle beneath the fabric before it disappeared again, swallowed by the folds of her clothing. Her hand hovers near the inside of her coat, just slightly, the way a person's hand might linger near something they're adjusting, making sure it's still there. You say nothing.

"Please if you could—"