Ren woke to the sound of breathing that was not his own.
His eyes opened instantly.
He did not move. Years of quiet living had taught him that sudden reactions often created more problems than they solved. Instead, he listened.
The breathing was slow, controlled, close—but not threatening. It came from the other side of the thin wall separating the shop from the living space. Someone was awake. Someone was inside.
Ren exhaled silently.
"…I locked the door," he muttered in his mind.
Carefully, he sat up and stood. The floor did not creak. The shop, it seemed, respected discretion.
When he stepped into the main area, he found the source immediately.
Liora sat at the small table.
She had not changed clothes. Her travel-worn robes were neatly arranged around her as she sat upright, hands wrapped around a cup of tea she must have prepared herself. The steam rose gently, curling in the still air.
She looked up when Ren entered.
"Oh," she said softly. "Good morning."
Ren stared.
"…You stayed."
She tilted her head slightly. "Was I not allowed to?"
Ren opened his mouth, then closed it again. He rubbed his face slowly, gathering his thoughts.
"You didn't leave yesterday," he said.
"I did," Liora replied calmly. "The street changed. I walked for a while. Then I felt tired. And somehow… I was back here."
Ren frowned. That should not have happened. The shop did not usually repeat itself so quickly. At least, not from what he had seen so far.
"Did you come back intentionally?" he asked.
Liora shook her head. "No. I just… followed the feeling."
Ren looked around the shop. Everything was as it should be. No alarms. No messages. No warnings from the system.
That was unsettling.
"Did anything unusual happen to you after you left?" Ren asked.
She thought for a moment. "No. I slept. For the first time in a long while, I slept without dreaming."
Ren stiffened slightly.
That was not nothing.
He walked to the counter and poured himself a cup of tea. He needed the ritual more than the drink.
"You understand," he said slowly, "that this place isn't normal."
Liora nodded. "Yes."
"And that staying here might cause problems."
"Yes."
Ren looked at her. "You're still here anyway."
She met his gaze evenly. "So are you."
Ren had no answer to that.
They drank in silence for a while. The shop felt different with another person present—not crowded, but… anchored. As if the space acknowledged that it was no longer solely his.
Ren did not like that thought.
"Why did you come back?" he asked finally.
Liora lowered her cup. "Because when I left, the world felt… loud again. Like it was pushing me somewhere I didn't want to go."
She paused, then added quietly, "Here, it doesn't push."
Ren leaned back against the counter. "This place isn't meant to be an escape."
"Neither am I," Liora replied. "I just need time."
Ren studied her. Her posture was composed, but there was a tension beneath it, the kind that came from someone holding themselves together by habit alone.
"You lost something," he said.
Liora did not deny it. "Everything."
The word settled heavily between them.
Ren did not press further. He had learned long ago that pain revealed itself when it was ready.
Instead, he changed the subject. "You can stay for today."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Just today?"
Ren shrugged. "I don't make long-term promises."
She smiled faintly. "That's fair."
The bell rang.
Ren closed his eyes.
"…Of course."
He opened the door.
This time, there were three visitors.
They stood just outside the threshold, hesitant. Two men and a woman, all wearing similar insignias—silver threads woven into dark fabric. Their presence was disciplined, controlled, and alert.
An organization.
Ren felt a familiar irritation settle in his chest.
"Good morning," the woman in front said politely. "Is this the establishment known as Somewhere Shop?"
Ren leaned against the doorframe. "Depends who's asking."
"We represent the Continuity Observation Bureau," she replied. "Our instruments detected an anomaly centered on this location."
Ren sighed. "I really need better instruments."
The woman smiled thinly. "May we come in?"
"No."
The word was calm, firm, final.
The air itself seemed to agree.
The three exchanged glances. The man on the left frowned. "We're not here to cause trouble."
Ren met his gaze. "Everyone says that."
The woman raised a hand slightly, signaling restraint. "We only wish to observe. This place violates several established causal boundaries."
Ren tilted his head. "Then perhaps your boundaries are outdated."
Silence.
Behind him, Liora stood quietly, watching. Her presence did not go unnoticed by the visitors, though they could not quite focus on her either.
The woman took a careful step forward.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold, she stopped.
Her expression changed—not to fear, but to confusion. She looked down at her hand, then back at Ren.
"…I can't," she said softly.
Ren nodded. "You weren't invited."
The man clenched his jaw. "This is unacceptable."
Ren shrugged. "So is bothering me before breakfast."
The woman studied Ren more closely now.
"What are you?"
Ren's patience thinned. "I own a shop."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
A long pause followed.
Finally, the woman exhaled. "We will leave. For now."
Ren inclined his head. "Appreciated."
As they turned to go, she added, "But this place is now on our watchlist."
Ren watched them walk away, the street subtly reshaping itself around their retreat.
"…Fantastic," he muttered.
He closed the door and locked it, then leaned back against it.
Liora approached quietly. "They were afraid."
Ren shook his head. "No. They were curious. That's worse."
He walked back to the counter and sat heavily on one of the stools. For the first time since the shop appeared, he felt the weight of attention pressing against the edges of his existence.
This was how it started.
Observation.
Classification.
Containment.
He did not want any of it.
Liora hesitated, then asked, "Is my presence making things worse?"
Ren looked at her.
"No," he said honestly. "They would have come eventually."
She lowered her gaze. "Then I'm sorry."
Ren sighed. "Don't apologize for existing. It's a bad habit."
She smiled weakly.
The shelves shifted.
Ren looked up.
New items appeared—slowly this time, as if the shop itself was thinking carefully.
A stack of simple bowls.
A kettle.
A small sign with neat lettering:
OPEN
Ren stared at it.
"…You're encouraging this."
The shop did not deny it.
Ren pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're supposed to be low-profile."
The sign remained.
Liora glanced at it, then at Ren. "You don't have to open."
Ren thought about that.
He could close the shop. Refuse everyone. Retreat into quiet anonymity.
But he remembered the girl with the memory vial. Karsen's wary respect. Liora's exhaustion.
The shop did not create needs.
It revealed them.
Ren stood and flipped the sign.
The bell rang softly.
Almost immediately, footsteps approached.
Ren felt something settle into place—not excitement, not dread, but inevitability.
He was being noticed.
Not as a threat.
Not as a savior.
But as a place.
And places, once discovered, could never truly disappear.
As the door opened and another unfamiliar face stepped inside, Ren straightened his posture, adjusted the plain apron around his waist, and prepared himself.
Not for battle.
But for something far more troublesome.
Responsibility.