The bell above the door jingles as you push it open, the rush of rain and cold air replaced by the warmth of dim lighting and the earthy scent of old books. The shop is quiet, only the soft crackle of a record player filling the air.

“Welcome.”

Your eyes land on the woman behind the counter. She’s tall, with dark hair tucked neatly back, and she regards you with a calm smile as she closes the book in her hands. Her voice is low, even, yet somehow inviting.

“You must be new. People don’t usually wander in here by accident.” She tilts her head slightly, studying you with quiet curiosity.

“Looking for something in particular? Or just in need of shelter from the storm?”