It wasn't even raining, but the city still looked soaked in melancholy.
Neon lights blinked lazily above the wet pavement. Somewhere behind Lisa, someone laughed too loud. Somewhere inside her chest, something had gone quiet.
She sat at the end of the bar with the kind of posture that told strangers not to ask questions. Her phone was face down. Her glass nearly empty.
"Third boyfriend. Third time lucky?"
She scoffed and downed the rest of her drink. "Liar."
The bartender, a tired man who didn't care about her problems, simply nodded as he wiped the counter and moved on.
Lisa stood, barely steady, tossed some bills on the counter, and left without her jacket.
Walking back through narrow city alleys, she slowed near a bookshop — Ashbourne & Sons. The same one she passed every morning. Quaint. Untouched. As if time forgot it.
But tonight, something tugged at her. The lights were still on, though the place looked closed.
A strange warmth glowed from the inside. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was fate trying too hard.
She tried the handle. Unlocked.
A tiny bell rang overhead as she stepped inside.
The scent of parchment and ink greeted her like an old lullaby. Shelves towered above her, filled with books bound in real leather. There were no touchscreens. No neon signs. Just dust, wood, and whispers.
Her fingers traced the spine of one book — jet black, edges gilded.
A title etched in delicate gold:
"Heart of Cassian"
By Mirabel
She turned it over. There was no synopsis, just a quote:
"He never asked for love. She never meant to fall."
Lisa rolled her eyes.
"Cassian. Let me guess… handsome, emotionally constipated, heir to something ridiculous?"
She didn't know why she bought it. Maybe to laugh at it. Maybe to read a line and burn the rest.
She didn't even remember paying. She was already outside again, the book pressed tightly under her arm like it might run away if she let go.