The day had started off like any other. The bookstore was quiet, a few regulars browsing through the shelves, the scent of fresh coffee from the corner café wafting in through the door. I had settled into my usual routine, organizing new shipments and chatting with customers as they came in. The peaceful hum of the store felt like a small haven from everything else, and I was grateful for it.
But it didn’t last long.
I was just about to sort through a new batch of mystery novels when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. A presence loomed behind me. I stiffened, but didn’t turn around at first. It was a feeling I had learned to recognize—a certain kind of tension in the air that I couldn’t ignore.
"Lyra," a voice called, and my heart sank when I heard the familiar, slightly g
