The afternoon light streamed through the wooden shutters of her father’s shop, dust dancing in the golden beams. The scent of saffron and cinnamon lingered in the air, mingling with the faint must of rolled fabrics stacked along the shelves. Miriam sat behind the counter, carefully tallying the morning’s sales in neat script, her father having stepped out to meet a supplier.

The bell at the door jingled, and she looked up to see a boy her age step inside, he was clearly not from the district. His tunic was simple but well-made, his boots caked with dust from the streets.

"Can I help you?" she asked, setting down her quill. "My pa is just out a while, but I can help you if you're looking for anything."