peaches and singed sugar

Sometimes, chaos is the best kind of routine.

The narrow staircase creaked under Orrin’s feet as he descended from the hidden floor above. Instead of toddling ahead, Little Sir Menace had seemingly decided to take the faster way: sliding down the banister. His tiny clay form almost skittered off as he reached the bottom with a not-so-elegant thud.

Orrin shook his head with a quiet laugh as he watched the little knight wobble away, ready to find its first foe of the day. Halfway down the stairs, he passed by a window and as he glanced outside, curious on where the shop had settled this time, he frowned.

Outside, the world was blanketed in a soft, chilly fog. He knew that this was a place where there was barely any rain here—just a steady, lingering chill that blanketed nature until the sun rose to melt it away. It was one of those outstandingly serene little wonders of the world; where people couldn’t be luckier than having come upon it. Fields stretched out into rolling green hills—the kind that made you feel like you were both nowhere and everywhere at once—and the trees in the distance didn’t loom like any other tree would, they governed the space. Elegantly.

It looked pretty, which was an understatement, but it wasn’t very… ‘liminal’; even less so ‘in-between’.

Orrin exhaled.

“That’s… not really where we are supposed to be during opening hours.”

As he waited for a response—which was likely going to be a waste of his time overall—Orrin opened the window and bent over the sill to get a better look.

The fog, clearly reluctant to get too close, curled around the edges of the shop, however, it had been brave enough to swallow not only the lanterns but also the shop sign. The cobblestone path that normally led to the door was missing entirely, and instead, there were scattered patches of grass that had no business being there. To his surprise, the door was also gone.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and leaned further out, but the empty space where the door had once stood remained, as solid and real as the fog that rolled thickly across the fields.

“Excuse me? Where is your door?” Orrin muttered, hands gripping the windowsill. “We both know it’s not like it decided to take the morning off. Come on now. It’s almost time.”

He glanced at the grandfather clock by the counter, only to almost slip off the windowsill from how quickly he had fully turned to face the inside of the shop.

Down below, the payphone booth had left the far end of the shop and had wedged itself right between the counter and the wall; the spot in which the grandfather clock—the shop’s heart—had resided since the very first owner had tended to this place. He rubbed his forehead, feeling the weight of a thousand tiny annoyances stack up. The clock was gone.

First the door, now the clock.

Certainly, today would involve more chaos than usual, and that was saying something. After all, this was the Four Fourty-Four, the home of all things strange and peevish.

“Let’s get to the choice of place later. But the door? How do you expect a customer to come inside? Through a window?”

No answer. Not even a creak in the floorboards or a shelf shifting closer.

Not that he had expected one, but this didn’t really make it any much easier.

“Fine. Let’s talk about the clock, then. Where is it? How do you expect me to go about my duty when I don’t know what time it is?”

Little Sir Menace, ever the curious one, had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, watching the non-exchange between Orrin and the shop with interest. That was, until he suddenly tensed and dashed ahead, stabbing the staircase, prompting it to vanish.

Orrin, who had not seen this coming, dropped boots-first onto the floorboards of the shop. Above him, the window shut itself with a gentle, little creak.

“By the—” he grunted as he caught himself with one hand, the other instinctively reaching for the edge of the nearest shelf to remain on his feet. “What was that for?”

The little knight didn’t respond, of course. Instead, he stood proudly in front of the empty space where the staircase had once been, his tiny lance poised in the air as if he’d just slain a great beast.

As if in response to Orrin’s irritation, the shop let out a low creak, almost as if it were chuckling at the situation. Orrin pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. Little Sir Menace, apparently satisfied with his handiwork, began his slow march across the shop’s wooden floors, making soft tapping noises as his tiny clay feet moved.

Orrin sighed, and turned to face the shop, which seemed to be waiting expectantly for something to happen—though exactly what that something was, Orrin had no idea.

He exhaled sharply. “Alright. Let’s take this one disaster at a time.”

The lanterns overhead flickered. Not in their usual warm, inviting way, but with an unsettling hesitation. Before he could pry further, something thudded against the outside wall. It was a dull, heavy sound, as if something large had just bumped into it.

Orrin turned slowly toward the noise.

Outside the nearest window, nothing much seemed to be going on.

Grassy hills half-devoured by thick fog. Trees in the distance. Winding cobblestone path—at least for as far as the fog let him see. However, the way the fog clung to everything in heavy, sluggish swirls… that didn’t feel quite right for how the rest of this place felt like. It was too warm at heart, too sun-kissed and laughter-dappled, to have fog like that.

If anything, the proper fog would be more like a hush between moments, like a blanket. This fog, however, wasn’t. It clung too tight, too hungry.

Orrin’s fingers curled against the windowsill.

Another thud. This time, it wasn’t against a wall.

It was above them. A single, heavy impact against the roof.

The lanterns flickered again, but now it was clear—it was not hesitation. It was a warning.

“Well, isn’t that a lovely way to start a duty…” Orrin sighed. He glanced at Little Sir Menace. “I’d love—for the better or worse part of my patience—if you would sit this one out, little one. That does seem like something I need to handle.”

Little Sir Menace, naturally, did no such thing. Instead, he puffed out his little, cracked chest, and stamped one foot against the floorboards.

Orrin sighed. “I should have expected that.”

Another thud echoed through the shop, this time closer to the front. Whatever was outside—or above—wasn’t merely passing them by or accidentally bumping into the shop, it was testing the space.

The shop, as if in response, gave a long, slow creak.

Orrin pressed his fingers to his temple, weighing his options. The shop had no door, the window by the staircase had closed itself when the staircase had vanished, the lanterns were behaving like startled birds. And the fog—gods, that fog—was curling around the place like a second skin.

Something outside wanted in.

“Well,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Suppose it’s time to make it someone else’s problem.”

With that, Orrin took off his cloak, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and glanced at his boots to make sure they were tight enough for what was to come, when a louder, heavier thud not only startled the fragile glassware in the nearby shelves, but also had Little Sir Menace tumbling to the ground.

Little Sir Menace recovered immediately, rolling onto his feet with an outraged shake of his tiny lance. Orrin barely had time to react—his gaze snapping upward—before the ceiling gave way.

A blur of dark wood, water, and something yellow crashed down on him with all the grace of a falling bookshelf, knocking him to the ground, and the breath clean out of his lungs.

For a moment, everything was still, until an eerie noise came from the roof where the shop mended itself—tiles reknitting, wooden beams lodging into each other once more, lanterns flickering back to their usual, unimpressed glow, until just a moment later, the debris on the ground vanished and the shop was done.

The only sign that the roof had ever been broken was the woman now sprawled atop him, utterly soaked, laughter bubbling out of her, and with the audacity to grin. Osselinn.

Osselinn pushed herself up on her elbows, effectively driving her own weight further into his ribs.

“That was odd.” she said, wringing out the edge of her sleeve, letting the water drip onto his shirt. “I left the house prepared, but not that prepared.” She muttered, looking down on herself and her completely soaked clothes. She tipped the tip of her rainboots against the floorboards, giggling. “Good thing I put these on. I had a feeling it’s going to be one of those days, so at least my feet are dry.”

Orrin raised a brow, tilted his head back and blinked at the ceiling. No crack, no sign of damage, just the same wooden beams and lantern light as before. He blinked again, the words—any, literally—not even anywhere near forming. At a loss for words, he took a flat look at her rain boots.

“You fell through the roof.”

“Pretty sure I did.”

“And the first thing you point out is that your feet are dry?”

“Well, the rest of me isn’t, if that’s any consolation,” she said breezily, wringing at her sleeves again.

Orrin closed his eyes and exhaled. “Alright. Fine. Let’s just—” He pushed himself up to sit, shaking the lingering soreness from his limbs. “May I ask how you fell through the roof?”

Osselinn stretched, rolling her shoulders like someone who had not just dropped through a shop’s ceiling and flattened its shopkeeper. “I couldn’t sleep anymore so I planned to go to the bakery and enjoy a very early breakfast. They open at five, you know. And there are people to watch, too. All sorts of them. And around six I planned to leave the bakery to head to work.”

Orrin gave her a long, unimpressed look, from her fully soaked hair, her unbuttoned spring coat, her equally soaked summer-weather dress, and… yellow rainboots.

“In rainboots? Expecting rain? In this place?”

“Not around here, no. Which is sad. I love rain. And puddles. Most days here, it’s just sidewalks, you know. If you’re lucky, someone spilled some water during gardening. Then you get a puddle to jump in. I mean, who doesn’t love jumping into puddles, right? Recently, though, well… puddles are fun. Until they swallow your entire shoe… so, boots, you know? Wasn’t sure if today was a sidewalk-day or a puddle-day, but I came prepared.” She wiped some of her wet hair out of her face, still smirking. “Or so I thought. Was not prepared for this puddle to swallow me whole.”

Orrin frowned, his brain catching on the phrasing. “You jumped into a puddle on the sidewalk and then fell through the roof?”

“Yup.”

He turned toward the window. It wasn’t the fog that was wrong—wrong wasn’t even the right word—it was the whole place. The rolling hills, the cobblestone paths, the quaint houses and distant forest… they weren’t there. It was simply their reflections from above, through the puddle. They were what was being mirrored. The damn shop had settled inside a puddle for the duration of its duty.

And the thuds—not something trying to get into the shop, but something—or much rather someone, multiple someone’s—stumbling through the puddle the shop had settled itself in. Drunk ones, no doubt, given the sheer lack of grace in the movements.

Orrin pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He needed a drink, too.

Osselinn stretched her arms behind her head, not the least bit confused or agitated. Quite the opposite, actually. She seemed wholly unimpressed, bored even, and calm. Much too calm for what had just happened.

Something rumpled around the walls again. At the back, on the roof. The same ungraceful movements as earlier.

“Why,” he asked, through gritted teeth, “is there a polter of drunkards wandering through a puddle above us?”

“We had a summer festival last night, well the town had. Children played with water-filled balloons all night, hence, the puddles. Almost everyone celebrated. Well, everyone who doesn’t have to work the next day. I guess they are finally going home. Pretty sure the adults are all drunk beyond sense, we had a good harvest of peaches and pears. And Grigo is famous for his quick-burnt fruit snaps. I’d bet a piece of my very healthy liver that half the town was on the floor this morning, recovering.” Osselinn explained, smiling still. “If someone drops something into the puddle I fell through, will that fall into your shop, too? If so, I hope it’ll be some of the fruit snaps. You look like you could use some.”

Orrin exhaled slowly, letting his eyes drift upward again. A puddle. A damn puddle. Osselinn, meanwhile, had taken to wringing out the ends of her hair, the soft drip-drip-drip of water hitting the floorboards only adding to his headache.

“You’re far too calm about this.”

Not that he liked his customers confused or panicked or asking him if they had died, but this? This wasn’t proper either. At all.

“And you’re far too dry,” she countered, flicking her fingers enough to send a fresh spray of water in his direction.

Orrin looked at the ceiling, looked at Osselinn, and then looked back at the ceiling. He had so many things to say but not a single one of them would make this situation any better. Instead, he turned on his heel, picked up Little Sir Menace, and crossed the room, stepping past a stack of books that had nearly toppled when Osselinn landed.

Little Sir Menace made a low, unimpressed clinking sound when Orrin sat him down on the counter.

Osselinn huffed a laugh. “I like him.”

Orrin gave her a dry look. “Of course you do.”

A new sound interrupted them—a plunk, directly overhead. Orrin barely had time to react before something small dropped from the ceiling. He caught it without thinking, the familiar shape of a glass bottle pressing into his palm: Grigo’s fruit snaps.

Osselinn grinned. “Ha! Good for you! You’ll love it. Grigo does an amazing job with that.”

Orrin turned the bottle over in his hands, frowning at the perfectly intact wax seal. The label was smudged from water, but it had made the transition flawlessly, without taking out a part of the roof.

Which meant that potentially, other things could, too. His grip tightened slightly.

A second, heavier thud rocked the shop and Orrin looked up just in time to see a second body drop through the ceiling, landing right next to where Osselinn stood, missing her by an inch. Little Sir Menace hopped up and down on the counter, lance raised, absolutely thrilled about the sudden influx of combatants.

Orrin, rubbing the bridge of his nose, looked at the fruit snaps in his hand.

“I am,” he muttered to no one in particular, “so going to drink this.”

The second arrival groaned, rolling onto his back with a wet squelch. Unlike Osselinn, he had apparently fallen face-first through the puddle, and his expression was one of dazed betrayal.

“Uhgh,” the man wheezed, blinking water out of his eyes. “What the…hell?”

Orrin pointed at the man with the hand that held the bottle of snaps. “See. That’s the proper reaction.” He muttered towards Osselinn, who simply smirked, looking unreasonably delighted by this.

Orrin, who had not signed up for any of this tonight, let out a slow, measured sigh. “It's a shop at the moment,” he corrected, uncorking the fruit snaps with a flick of his thumb. The sharp scent of peaches and singed sugar filled the air. “But it might be turning into hell at this point. At least my personal one.”

The newcomer sat up, taking in the shop’s cluttered shelves, the shadows curling in the corners, and the faint glow of lantern-light that flickered despite the absence of flames. His eyes lingered on the ceiling.

Then, finally, he turned to Osselinn. “Did you know you were going to fall through?”

“Not at all!” she said brightly. “I expected mud, at most. Maybe a bit of sinking. You know, slow, dramatic. Instead, I got this.” She spread her arms, gesturing at the entirety of Four Fourty-Four as if it were a mildly interesting surprise and not a rule-of-space-defying shop that should not exist inside a puddle.

Orrin, already halfway through his first sip, closed his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling at the situation overall. When he opened his eyes again, he caught Little Sir Menace, still stationed on the counter, eyeing the new arrival rather than the first one.

Orrin, watching this unfold, tilted the bottle toward the stranger. “If you value your ankles, I’d stay very, very still.”

The man blinked. “What?”

Little Sir Menace launched.

Orrin took another sip.

“Wait a second! What— Why?!”

Osselinn cackled, her laughter bubbling once again as she watched Little Sir Menace chase the man around the small entry space.

It gave him some time to think about this situation, however, there was not much he could do now, was there? While the standard was one customer per duty, he had had multiple ones before. Cecelia and Lisette for example, although only one of them had been the customer in the end. And neither of them had survived it.

These two, though… that felt different. They weren’t here because of some desperate, half-formed wish. They weren’t here seeking something they had lost, or something they should have let go of long ago. They had simply fallen.

Through a puddle, of all things.

And that, more than anything, was what made this feel different. The shop had brought them, yes, but not because it had sensed some tangled regret or lingering ache to resolve or a push they needed.

It had simply let them in.

And Orrin wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Call him off!” the stranger yelped, hopping onto a low wooden crate as Little Sir Menace jabbed at his boots with enthusiastic precision. The tiny knight, unbothered by his target’s protests, let out a triumphant little clink-clink-clink, brandishing his lance like this was the most exciting duel of his life.

Osselinn, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, relax, he won’t actually hurt you.”

Orrin arched a brow. “You say that now, but I’d really rather not test the durability of his lance against human skin.”

“Exactly!” the man huffed.

Orrin sighed and gave Little Sir Menace a pointed look. The tiny knight hesitated—clearly torn between honoring his sworn duty of combat and obeying the shopkeeper—but after a moment, he reluctantly lowered his lance and clinked back to the counter.

As if on cue, the roof overhead quivered and creaked again. All three of them looked up.

Little Sir Menace, sensing yet another potential combatant, squared his stance by the counter, lance raised in anticipation.

Osselinn squealed in giggles and laughter. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

Orrin, suddenly questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment, pinched the bridge of his nose and straightened. Before anything else could happen, he raised his palm and sealed the roof, blocking it off for any more potential visitors.

“I think two is enough for one night.”

He gave a half-hearted flick of his wrist, drying Osselinn and the stranger off completely. Somewhere in the shop, the cackling of a fire started, warming the space enough for these two to be comfortable.

Osselinn wrinkled her nose, plucking at her now-dry sleeves. “You could’ve done that earlier, you know.”

Orrin shot her a look. “I could have done a lot of things earlier.”

The stranger, still perched on the crate as if he didn’t quite trust the floor yet, exhaled sharply. “I think I’ll drink just water next year. I had too much snaps, didn’t I?” He gestured at the shop around them, his gaze lingering on the shelves, the flickering lanterns, and the shifting shadows that never quite seemed to stay in one place.

Orrin sighed. “I suppose it’s time to formally greet you. We might be late, I don’t know. The clock disappeared. Welcome to the Four Fourty-Four. A shop. My shop.” He paused, weighing his words before settling on, “It’s complicated.”

The stranger blinked. “That’s your explanation? 'It’s complicated'?”

“It is.”

The man groaned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s the snaps with the mint for sure. I had too much of that.” He slid off the crate, testing the ground warily before finally standing at his full height. “I’m Fenner, by the way. Since you didn’t bother to ask.”

Orrin arched a brow. “Normally, I do not need to ask. Osselinn, for example, I knew without asking. But coming back to you: I was getting there.”

Fenner squinted. “What do you mean you don’t need to ask?”

Orrin didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t want to but because he didn’t know. This wasn’t like his usual customers, where the shop’s influence nudged them toward a realization, an item, or a choice they had to make. It had let them in but since then, nothing had happened. No item coming forward, no change in shelves or ware-display, nothing.

Which meant it had a different reason for keeping them here.

Little Sir Menace, apparently bored now that combat had been postponed, climbed up the counter.

Osselinn, completely unfazed by Orrin’s growing concern, rocked back on her heels. “Well. I don’t know about either of you, but I’m in the mood for tea.” She spun, already moving toward the back of the shop. “Let’s bet you have the weirdest blends.”

Orrin, at an absolute loss for words, could only stare after her. “What—Osselin—”

Too late. She was already rummaging. Fenner stared after her for a moment before he looked at Orrin. “...You two know each other, I take it?”

Orrin’s mouth opened, then shut. He exhaled slowly. “No.”

Fenner frowned. “But you knew her name.”

Orrin gave him a flat look. “That’s my job.”

Fenner’s frown deepened. “To… know people?”

“To know a customer when they walk through the door.” He glanced at the roof. “Or, in this case, fall through the roof.”

Fenner muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I knew I had too much mint snaps. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, watching as Osselinn, blissfully unaware of their conversation, pulled open a cupboard and started rifling through jars with all the casual familiarity of someone who belonged here.

Orrin rubbed his temples and took a slow breath, willing himself to remain composed. “Osselinn.”

“Hm?” She didn’t even look up.

“You don’t seem particularly surprised to be here.”

“Should I be?” She turned, holding up a jar labelled A Memory of Apples, Dried. “Do you have something less poetic? I’m not trying to have an existential crisis with my tea.”

Orrin blinked. “Yes, you should be surprised!” He gestured vaguely at the shop, at the sheer impossibility of it all. “You fell through a puddle and landed inside a shop that shouldn’t exist. Most people would have a few questions about that!”

Osselinn tapped a finger against the jar. “I do have questions, but I figure the more important ones will answer themselves in time.”

Fenner, who had been quietly watching this exchange, turned to Orrin. “Okay. I take it back. I might not be the one who’s had too much to drink.”

Orrin let out a slow measured breath. “Osselinn, that is not how this works.”

Osselinn gave him a bright, unbothered smile. “That’s okay. I’ll just make up my own answers.”

Fenner let out a low whistle. “Bold strategy.”

“Boldly incorrect,” Orrin muttered.

Osselinn merely shrugged and continued rummaging through the shelves. “If you want me to react a certain way, you should have put up a sign.”

Orrin’s eye twitched. “A sign?”

“Yeah, you know, ‘Welcome to the Impossible, Please Panic Accordingly’—something like that.” She said. “But maybe I’m just better at adapting.”

He watched her carefully. “And if it gets too hard to adapt? What then?”

Osselinn’s smile faltered for just a second—just a flicker—and then it was back, brighter than before. “Well, then I adapt harder, I guess.” She shrugged again, as though this was the most normal thing in the world to reply to that.

Fenner choked on a laugh.

Orrin studied her, gaze narrowing slightly. The way she said it—so flippantly, like it was easy. Like it wasn’t something that could grind a person down to nothing if they did it for too long. He’d seen plenty of people walk into his shop with that same unbothered attitude, only to crack at the edges.

Osselinn, however, was different. She wasn’t in denial, nor was she overwhelmed. She simply was, standing in the middle of an impossible shop and treating it like a particularly quirky roadside stop.

He exhaled slowly. “Right. Well. Adapt away, then. Just don’t break anything.”

Osselinn grinned. “No promises.”

As she wandered deeper into the shop, his gaze fell on Fenner.

Fenner who should not have managed to come in since there had already been a customer.

Why was he here?

Did his presence mean that Osselinn was not a customer?

Truth be told, she was too unfazed about the matter; even the quirkiest humans had reacted in some way, after all.

So, had Fenner slipped in because the shop didn’t regard Osselinn as humankind? Was she too quirky, too offbeat, too… other to be judged correctly?

But wouldn’t he recognize one of his own? It made no sense. And what was this intense smell of peaches and singed sugar? Still from the opened snaps bottle? But if so, why would it flare up whenever one of the two moved?

Thinking, Orrin glanced at the bottle. Surely, it couldn’t be the reason for the overwhelming smell fogging up the shop.

Realizing he had stared at Fenner through his entire train of thought, Orrin motioned at the aisles and shelves. “Have a look around, I suppose.”

Fenner raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and meandered off, whistling low under his breath.

The smell of singed sugar intensified.

Orrin watched him go, a prickle of unease creeping up his spine.

He’d never known the shop to make mistakes. It had rules—strange, fluid, sometimes maddeningly inconsistent rules—but they were rules all the same. It chose one customer at a time. One person who needed something they didn’t quite understand.

And yes, Cecelia and Lisette had entered together, but the only customer that night had been Lisette. Tonight, however, there were two people, and both of them—seemingly—were the customer.

None of it made sense!

His gaze flicked back to Osselinn. She was crouched near a lower shelf now, examining a row of identical glass bottles with a bemused expression. They were unlabelled, but they hummed faintly with something unreadable. Not quite magic. Not quite memory. Just something in between.

Orrin stepped closer, keeping his tone casual. “Find something interesting?”

“More like something ominous.” She tilted a bottle toward the dim shop light, watching the way the liquid inside shifted from deep green to a shade of gold that wasn’t entirely color. “What’s in this one?”

Orrin hesitated, trying to ignore the smell of peaches around her. He had a few guesses what the liquid in the bottle was, none of them comforting. After all, the shop had an odd taste when it came to items and how to source them. And from whom.

Before he could answer, Fenner’s voice drifted over from the next aisle. “So, funny thing. There’s a door. Like, in the middle of the aisle. And I tried it.”

Orrin tensed. “And?”

“It’s locked.”

“For a random door standing in the middle of one of my aisles, that is probably the best situation.”

“Okay, but—” Fenner appeared around the corner. “Why is your entrance door with the shop’s name in the middle of an aisle and not… you know, where an entrance door would be?”

Orrin’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. It wasn’t the where that worried him. The door would work in either place. It was the fact that it was locked. The shop never trapped people. It was meant to offer, to give.

Unless, of course, something had entered that shouldn’t be here.

His gaze flicked toward Osselinn once more. She was still watching the liquid in the bottle shift.

“It does that sometimes,” he said slowly. “Besides, you two fell through the roof. I suppose it just wasn’t needed.”

“I guess that means we’re staying for a while,” Osselinn said lightly. Both men turned to look at her. She was still crouched by the shelf, still watching the bottle, but something about her had gone very still.

“You don’t seem too concerned,” Orrin noted.

She finally looked up, smiling still. “Should I be?”

“I’d argue yes.”

“Then let me ask you something.” She rose smoothly to her feet, holding up the bottle. The liquid inside had settled into a deep shade of blue, dark as a night sky just before dawn. “You said the shop offers things to people who need them, right?”

For some reason, Orrin’s stomach twisted. “Yes.”

She tipped the bottle slightly, watching the liquid swirl. “Then what happens when the thing someone needs isn’t an item?”

Fenner’s gaze darted between the two of them. “Alright, I don’t like this at all. I’d like to go home. Wake me up. Or, I don’t know, let me climb back out.”

Osselinn ignored him, her attention fixed on Orrin. “What happens when the shop decides the thing you need… is to stay?”

From somewhere behind him, Fenner rummaged around. “You got a ladder somewhere? Preferably one that won’t play any tricks on me like… like me climbing and climbing but never getting anywhere?”

Orrin ignored him. He kept his focus on Osselinn, alarmed. “Hardly possible. I’m not human. You two are. The shop does not keep people, least of all humans.”

Osselinn hummed. “Isn’t it?” She turned the bottle in her hands, watching the way the liquid swirled. It was shifting again, bleeding from deep blue to a bruised violet, then softening at the edges—like a twilight sky dissolving into dawn.

Fenner stopped moving in the back. “Sure, ignore me.” He stepped right in front of Orrin, giving him a glance. “Seriously. I want to leave.”

Orrin continued to ignore him, watching Osselinn instead. Carefully, he reached for the bottle in her hands. “Where did you come from, Osselinn?”

She let him take it without resistance, tilting her head slightly. “Wouldn’t you rather ask why I’m here? That’s what you ask everyone else, right?”

The liquid inside the bottle stilled, turning a deep red; dark and rich and final.

Orrin’s grip on the bottle tightened. He exhaled, keeping his voice even. “I don’t decide who comes through the door. The shop does.”

Osselinn smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know.”

Something about the way she said it made the walls seem closer.

“I do hate that, you know. That it’s out of your hands like that.” she continued. “Would be nicer if it wasn’t, don’t you think?”

Fenner took a step back. “Look, this is getting weird. She’s getting weird. Weirder than ‘fell-through-the-roof’ weird. And I don’t do weird. And she never did weird before either. I know her. Have known her for years.” He gestured at the ceiling. “I’m ready to leave. And don’t worry, I’m taking her with me. Maybe she had too much to drink.”

Orrin turned the bottle in his hand. The liquid remained that same deep, unchanging red.

Final.

He met Osselinn’s gaze. “You know why the shop brought you here.”

Osselinn tilted her head slightly. She glanced at Fenner, then back at Orrin. “You keep saying the shop brought me here. But what if I came here myself? Not necessarily alone, obviously.”

His breath stilled.

The shop wasn’t keeping her. That wasn’t what this was all about. It was keeping him. Fenner. And she had brought him here.

And then it hit him.

There was only one sort who could—

“You’re a Harbinger.”

“Oh god, did you hit your head when you fell down here? Come one, Osselinn, you’re scaring me.” Fenner said, but it sounded more like a whimper than the words of a young man.

Osselinn smiled. “I am.” Then she turned to Fenner. “I am a good thing, there’s no need for you to be scared. At least if we take in account where you are at right now in life; can’t get any worse for you overall. But to make it easy for you: My presence isn’t an accident or fate. It’s not randomness like with Orrin here. I’m just… well, I’m Osselinn. I do not guide like Orrin, nor do I push matters into the hands of others like Grant—rather, I introduce the one, tiny, necessary element that forces a path to be taken.”

Fenner swallowed, visibly lost on how to deal with it all. “That sounds a lot like pushing.”

Osselinn hummed, shifting her weight slightly. “No. Pushing implies force, and I don’t force anything. I just… make sure the door is open when it needs to be.” She smiled again. “And you, Fenner, have been standing in the doorway for quite some time. It’s lovely that Orrin decided so quickly and locked it for everyone else. I was prepared to come with a selection. For variety.”

Fenner let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Osselinn. Stop it, please. It’s enough. Let’s just go home. Please.”

Orrin remained silent. Observing them.

Harbingers weren’t bound by the same rules as other immortals. They weren’t seen unless they wished to be seen. They weren’t expected unless they had already arrived. And they only ever came when a choice had been waiting too long to be made.

He felt something in his chest tighten. “This isn’t only about Fenner, is it?”

Osselinn exhaled softly, and for the first time, her smile faded. “Not necessarily. As I said, he was one of a few for you to pick from. I had a few to choose from before that. You’re welcome. But I think he will adjust quite nicely. With that said, yes. This is mostly about you. Tonight, I suppose, you’re the customer of your own shop.”

Fenner took another step back. “That’s it. No. To whatever.“

Osselinn sighed again, the same way Orrin sighed whenever a customer said something he had heard a thousand times before. “The moment you walked through the door—”

“Fell through the roof.” Fenner stressed.

“—the moment you entered this space, things were settled. The shop allowed it. Orrin blocked the rest from falling through, accepting you. Therefore, this is valid.”

Fenner shook his head. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I just want to go home.”

Osselinn tilted her head. “And where is that, exactly?”

Silence.

Fenner opened his mouth, closed it. His shoulders dropped.

He had no answer.

Osselinn’s voice softened. “That’s why you’re here. You have failed time and time again to find ‘home’, to allow yourself one, to adjust to one, to create one. So, I found a home for you.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. At least not the ones he wanted to say.

“So… you weren’t my friend, were you? Not even a single fucking moment. You were just doing your job. Buttering up the random guy you started talking to at a bakery in some random town, only to toss him into some strange place a couple years later. Because you needed to staff it.”

Orrin, watching them silently still, finally understood.

The overwhelming smell wasn’t the bottle. It was them. Their friendship. The kind of connection they had. An odd pair, but fitting together perfectly, nontheless. Peaches for Osselinn, singed sugar for Fenner.

The shop, certainly, had tried to give Orrin a hint. One he had missed spectacularly. Partly, for sure, because Osselinn had made the snaps drop in to mask the hint.

Osselinn’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a quiet understanding in her eyes. “That’s what you think?” Her voice was steady, without the slightest hint of defensiveness. “Well then. I’ve never been one to butter anyone up, Fenner. I’m not some guide, not some reassuring hand to help you sleep at night. I do what’s necessary. What’s required. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the time I was allowed to spend with you. And I did. Genuinely. You were my favorite part of those years I spent looking for someone adequate to place here.”

Fenner opened his mouth, hoping to speak with the bite he felt in his chest, but the words came out hollow. “Yeah, well, if you’d really care, you’d know that I don’t want to be part of whatever mess this is. I like my life. It’s a mess, too, yeah. But at least one I chose myself.”

Osselinn didn’t flinch. “It’s not about what you want, Fenner. Humans tend to forget that life isn’t a string of wants. Neither is it a chase to fulfil them.”

Fenner stood there, caught in the silence.

Osselinn turned to Orrin, straightening a little. “He is to be your attendant. We are currently looking into the matter why you did not have one from the start.”

Because I killed him. Because I didn’t want any other soul around me. Because I wanted my goddamn peace. Because I wanted Grant and no one else. Because I wanted to grief the life I wanted but couldn’t have.

It was all there, on the tip of his tongue, but Orrin swallowed the words, simply nodding. “I see.”

Osselinn’s gaze lingered on him, her eyes soft yet knowing, as if she could read every unsaid word. And maybe she could. She was a Harbinger after all.

She turned, and there it was, right behind her. The very same thing she had fallen through earlier, the one Fenner had come through, too. A tear in the threads, but different from the ones Orrin dealt with night for night. “I’ll leave you two to sort through this. Just remember, Fenner... Sometimes, the path finds you, even when you don’t want to walk it.”

The tear closed itself up behind her, leaving no sign that she had ever been here to begin with. Fenner stood, rooted to the spot, glaring at Orrin, as if he was responsible for it all.

“You can hate me all you want,” Orrin said into the silence, his voice steady. “I think I’d hate me too if I was you. I didn’t know that I made a selection when I blocked the shop from allowing anyone else in. I just assumed it’ll be more humans, which… well, there is a one-customer-per-duty rule. I didn’t recognize her for what she was. That’s the problem with Harbingers.”

Fenner took a step back, his breath catching in his throat. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Orrin nodded. “If it helps, sometimes I don’t know that either.”

Fenner’s chest tightened at the words, a mixture of frustration and something deeper welling up inside him. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to lash out. But instead, he found himself too worn to do so.

“I don’t understand why I’m here. And… what happened to me ‘up there’? Am I dead? Disappeared? I have a job, you know. Who’s going to pay my rent?” Fenner’s voice cracked on the words, barely audible, the sound betraying the mask he had tried so hard to hold up. “What about Osselinn? Why…—I just… And whatever this is, what if I do it wrong? I’m good at baking. I don’t know how to… —well…—whatever this is.”

Orrin skipped the obvious questions. They were good ones, but he really had no idea what was to happen to Fenner ‘up there’. If he was to stay here, surely he’d be considered missing from the mortal world, at least in the town he’d lived at.

Orrin sighed, focusing on the more important part of the questions. “I’ll help you figure it out.” He moved then, not towards Fenner, but towards the shelf Osselinn had rummaged around in. Retrieving two mugs, he prepared a quick hot beverage. Not a tea, not a coffee, but something comforting, nonetheless.

“And just so you know. There’s no such thing as wrong, Fenner. If it isn’t right—which I prefer to call temporarily aligned— it can only be one of three things: almost aligned, not quite yet aligned, and not supposed to align with you.”

He handed him one mug. “Try not to blow at it too much, anything past three times and it gets way too cold. And then you have to heat it up again, and then it gets mad with you. It’ll nag forever.”

Fenner, without giving it at least a glance, put the mug down instantly. “No thank you.”

Suddenly, a tiny blur of movement darted into his peripheral vision. By the windowsill, Little Sir Menace made his way up high enough to get Fenner’s attention. Fenner watched as the little knight scaled the furniture and book piles with ease, until he proudly stood on the windowsill, staring at him, lance pointed.

“The hell is that?” Fenner asked, voice flat.

Orrin didn’t even glance up. “Little Sir Menace.”

Fenner stared. “…Excuse me?”

“Little Sir Menace.” Orrin repeated casually, as if that explained anything at all.

The knight, as if sensing his introduction was complete, adjusted his stance and took an exaggerated step forward. Fenner leaned back slightly, lifting his hands. “Okay. And why does—” he motioned vaguely toward the tiny, glaring warrior, “—why does he look like he’s about to stab me?”

Orrin stirred his own drink with a slow swirl. “Because he likely is about to do so. It’s how he expresses himself.”

Fenner let out a humourless laugh. “Through violence?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Orrin exhaled. “Mostly, yes.”

Little Sir Menace took another step closer, his tiny lance making a faint clink as he tapped it against the rim of Fenner’s mug.

Fenner frowned. “Is he trying to fight my drink?”

Orrin barely looked up. “Very likely. Wait until one of the floating sugar spoons comes by. Oh, and I’d suggest eating your snack before one of the lanterns snatches it.”

Frowning, Fenner followed Orrin’s gesture, spotting a plate next to his mug that hadn’t been there a moment ago. But not only that, in the wooden beams underneath the ceiling, the lanterns swayed closer, hovering right above his plate, their strings unfurling to a length that was almost ridiculous.

“Also, be careful, they like to choke people.”

Little Sir Menace nudged the mug again, more insistently this time, then glanced up at Fenner as if to say you’re next.

Fenner let out a slow breath. “I hate it here.”

Orrin just hummed into his cup. “You’ll get used to it.”

Fenner looked at Orrin, at the lanterns stretching their strings towards him, then back down at the small, glaring knight. “Great. And I thought my last roommate was bad.”

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