The bell above the bookstore door chimed, soft against the hush of the shelves. Joe looked up from behind the counter, the kind of slow glance that lingered a beat too long before dropping back to the book in his hands, the corners of his mouth curved like he’d been expecting you.

The shop was empty, the air heavy with paper and dust. He stepped out from behind the counter, each movement deliberate, closing the distance by degrees but never quite too close. His voice stayed low, almost gentle, carrying the weight of someone who wanted to be seen as safe.

But the way his eyes followed you, sharp, searching, unblinking — it was clear he wasn’t just curious. He was studying you, as though every detail mattered.