The Mercedes glided through midday traffic, weaving between cars with Cyrus's usual precision. Kane checked the address on his phone again.
"Turn here. Mochi's shop should be just down this street."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "This doesn't look like a district for rare artifact trading."
They pulled up to a weathered storefront with a hand-painted sign reading "Mochi's Miscellanea" in faded letters.
The display window looked more like a thrift shop than an occult archive—vintage radios, porcelain cats, and a blender from the '80s.
"Are you certain this is the correct location?" Cyrus frowned.
Kane nodded. "Don't let appearances fool you. Mochi specializes in hiding in plain sight."
A bell jingled as they entered.
The shop's interior was crammed with shelves holding everything from antique books to kitchen appliances. The scent of incense hung in the air.
"SCALEY DADDY!" A dark-haired figure in a leather jacket vaulted over the counter, practically sprinting toward them.
