Ilyan put the disc back on the shelf.
Then he closed the collar's box.
The lid made a small wooden click. I looked at his hand instead of the disc, which was probably the first useful thing I'd done since seeing that mark.
My specification was still on the counter. I turned it face down. Anyone beside me could already have read it; moving it now didn't make the appointment private. It did stop me from offering the next stranger a neat list of everything we had checked.
Ilyan left one finger resting on the lid.
The man who entered wore a short coat and carried no shopping bag. A heavy knife hung openly at his waist. His left hand rested near it without touching the hilt.
He looked at me before he looked at the box.
I waited for him to notice something else for sale. The broken clasp lay near Ilyan's lens, and there were enough shelves behind us to occupy a bored customer. He ignored them.
