Morning woke the hall the same way as before. The blue glow brightened, the lamp held steady, the fountain kept its soft voice. Pebble checked the coin drawer like a tiny clerk, tap… tap… tap… then a pleased little click when the stacks sat neat.
I added two small lines to the price board.
Small repairs, one small coin.
Jar strap fitting, one small coin.
Rook arrived with a quick step and a bright grin. The moss jar sat snug under his arm.
"The hook works," he said. "But it bumps my side when I run."
"Let us fit it," I said.
I set the strap on the counter. A small trim, a fresh hole with the awl, the peg shaved a touch thinner, the keeper knot moved a finger's width. We clipped the jar back and I gave the strap a light tug.
"Try it," I said.
He jogged a short line along the benches, then stopped and laughed. "Better. No bruises today."
He paid one small coin for the fitting and hooked the leaf charm under his strap again. Pebble clicked like a tiny bell.
"You ever get bored in here," he asked.
"I like doors," I said. "People bring the world through them."
"I will bring a good story next time," he said, and slipped out with the light at his back.
The morning moved in easy pieces. A pair of miners bought oil and bandage. A seamstress sat for a moment and asked me to stitch a torn strap while she drank water. I worked the needle, she spoke about a boy who collects shiny stones, and the strap left stronger than it came. She paid and stood straighter.
Near the middle of the day, the man with the crooked smile returned. He walked like his feet had no weight. His eyes held the whole room and tried to keep it.
"Busy," he said, as if he liked the word on his tongue.
"Steady," I said.
He drifted toward the shelves and began to talk about floors he had not walked, and while he talked his hand slid two tins together, as if one would become the other when I was not looking. Pebble chirped, sharp and small.
"No swaps," I said, calm and light.
He met my eyes and smiled wider, like we had played a clever game together.
"A test," he said. "You pass."
"We sell," I said. "We do not play."
He picked up a tin of oil and set a coin on the counter. It glowed, but faint, like a coal that did not want to catch. I did not move my hand.
"Proper pay," I said. "The number on the board."
He added a second coin, bright and clean. Pebble patted it, then patted the first, judging both like a tiny judge. I took the good coin, set the tin on the counter, and pushed the weak coin back.
"Very honest," he said. "Very new."
He backed out of the doorway without turning. The glow of the hall took him. Thyra's dot brightened, then eased.
"Watch," Thyra wrote.
"I am watching," I said.
A soft scrape came from the threshold not long after. Something long and low slipped into the safe zone and paused at the ring of pale stones. It looked like a lizard, narrow and quick, scales the color of old rock with a pale stripe down its back. A small pouch hung at its neck.
"Hello," I said.
It blinked, then took four careful steps to the counter and set the pouch on the wood with its nose. I opened the pouch and found three small glow coins and four pink crystals that looked like salt, but smelled faintly sweet.
"Salt," Thyra wrote. Then, a second word, "Trade."
"You want salt," I said to the creature. "For these."
It made a quiet click in its throat. Not a word, but close enough. I poured a little salt into a shallow bowl. Its tongue flicked, then again. It tasted and drew back, surprised by the bite, then leaned in and ate neat, quick licks until the bowl was clean.
"Price," I asked.
Thyra wrote a simple number that felt fair. I set a small bag of salt on the counter and the creature pressed its cheek to it, pleased. I picked up one of the pink crystals.
"What are these," I asked.
"Flavor," Thyra wrote. "Good in water."
I dropped a single stone into a cup and filled it at the fountain. The water went faintly sweet, with a little flower scent. The creature drank with fast neat sips, then sat and watched me like a teacher who was finally satisfied.
"Welcome anytime," I said.
It took the salt bag in its mouth, tucked the pouch with a quick toss, and slipped away. At the ring it paused, tapped the floor twice with one foot, then vanished into the hall.
"Friend," Thyra wrote.
Pebble watched the doorway with wide amber eyes, then patted the counter where the bowl had sat, as if to erase the scent. I added a small line to the board.
Salt, by measure, one small coin.
A woman with a patched cloak bought balm for a man with a sore ankle. She rubbed it in with gentle hands while he clenched his teeth and said nothing. Two scouts bought a lantern to share. A boy ran in for water and ran out with thanks that sounded too big for his small chest. The day felt like a clean rope, strong and simple.
Rook came back near the soft edge of evening. Dust on his sleeves, a flush on his face, the jar riding easy at his side.
"The strap is perfect," he said. "Saved me twice."
"Good," I said. "That is the kind of saving I sell."
He leaned on the counter and pointed at the pink crystals. "What are those."
"Flavor stones," I said. "Drop one in water, it tastes like a sweet day."
He bought one for his canteen, and a bread, and a fruit. He paid with a coin that looked like it had seen too much sun, and still it glowed bright. He glanced at the door.
"You sell to monsters," he said, curious, not afraid.
"I sell to customers," I said.
He thought about that, then nodded like he had learned something he would keep. "You are braver than you look," he said.
"I am exactly as brave as a neat shelf," I said. "Not much, but more than none."
He laughed and went out steady and sure.
When the light in the hall began to soften, I counted the day. Pebble tapped each stack once to make it flat. Thyra wrote the rent number. I set the coins in the hatch. A thin glow ran along the edge like a patient smile.
"Keep the crystals," I asked, holding up the last pink stone.
"Keep," Thyra wrote. "New stock."
I put them in a jar with a folded paper note, flavor stones, one each, and set the jar where the light could catch a tired eye.
I turned the sign from OPEN to REST and hung it on the peg. Pebble curled on the counter, a small round guard with slow blinking eyes. The fountain kept its soft song. The blue glow eased down.
"Good day," I said.
"Good," Thyra wrote… then added a single word. "Soon."
The word sat between us like a coin on a scale. Not heavy, not light. A promise that the world would move again.
I lay on the mat behind the counter and watched the ceiling until my eyes went warm and tired. I thought about the crooked smile. I thought about a lizard who said thank you with its feet. I thought about doors, and how a shop is a door people can trust.
I slept with that thought in my chest.
---