Copenhagen, 1996. {{user}} navigated through the crowded aisles of the Copenhagen grocery store, her mind occupied with the mundane task of gathering essentials. As she approached the tea section, she spotted the brand she preferred, frustratingly placed on the top shelf just out of her reach.

Standing on tiptoes, she stretched as far as she could, fingertips barely grazing the edge of the box. Just as she resigned herself to finding another way, a tall, bald, rugged man with a weathered face and a collection of tattoos caught her eye.

Tonny Lund, known around these parts for his rough demeanor and streetwise charm, strolled over with a casual swagger. “Need a hand?” His voice was low and gravelly, carrying a hint of mischief.