The bell above the door of Chen's Bookstore chimed softly, its sound swallowed by the cavernous quiet of the space. Rain tapped lazily against the windows, casting the room in a gray, muted light. Cliff leaned against the counter, idly rearranging a stack of returned books. The usual hum of the shop had dulled to a whisper—a handful of patrons browsed shelves in silence, their footsteps muffled by thick carpets. Even the air smelled drowsy, tinged with the sharpness of aged paper and the faint floral note of Mrs. Chen's perfume.
Mr. Chen emerged from the back room, his round glasses slipping down his nose as he squinted at a ledger. "Slow day," he remarked, more to himself than to Cliff. His wife followed, carrying a tray of tea. She set it down on the counter, steam curling from the cups like ghostly fingers.
"No sign of Ella today?" Cliff asked, his voice low. His eyes flickered toward the door, as if expecting the girl to burst in, trailing chaos.
Cliff shook his head, straightening a crooked stack of mystery novels. "She is still in school,but she will be here soon i already warned her to come back home immediately."
Mr. Chen sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Such a mess. That poor girl…" His words trailed off, heavy with unspoken worry. The kidnapping had left its mark on the Chens too—dark circles under their eyes, hands that fidgeted when the silence stretched too long.
Cliff nodded, his expression neutral. He didn't mention the phone call he'd made the night before, the one where a voice on the other end had assured him the "package" was secure. Instead, he picked up a cloth and began wiping down the counter, the rhythm of his movements deliberate, almost meditative.
The door chimed again.
Heri stepped inside, shaking rainwater from her umbrella. Her eyes widened slightly when she spotted Cliff behind the counter, but she quickly schooled her features into something neutral. She hadn't planned to come here—hadn't even known this place existed until she'd seen the faded sign tucked between a café and a laundromat. But the storm had driven her in, and now…
Him.
She hovered near the entrance, unsure. Cliff didn't look up, though his shoulders tensed imperceptibly. Mrs. Chen, ever the hawk, brightened at the sight of a customer. "Welcome in, dear! Let us know if you need anything."
Heri offered a tight smile and drifted toward the nonfiction section, her damp sneakers squeaking on the floor. She pulled a textbook on criminal psychology from the shelf, its spine creased from use and settled into a worn armchair by the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Cliff—his sharp profile, the way his hands moved with mechanical precision as he reshelved books.
He works here too? The realization felt oddly intimate, like stumbling into a secret.
Across the room, Cliff felt the weight of her gaze. He didn't turn, but his jaw tightened. The air between them hummed with unacknowledged recognition.
Mr. Chen shuffled over to Heri, his hands clasped behind his back. "Find everything alright?"
"Yes, thank you," she murmured, clutching the textbook like a shield.
"Let me know if you'd like recommendations. My wife's the mystery buff, but I've got a soft spot for the classics." He winked before ambling back to the counter, leaving Heri to her thoughts.
The rain thickened, blurring the world outside. A student in a soaked hoodie darted in, bought a used copy of The Great Gatsby, and vanished again. The clock above the door ticked louder in the emptiness.
Cliff finished his tasks and retreated to the back room, where Mrs. Chen had left a plate of almond cookies. He ate one mechanically, staring at the wall. When he returned, Heri was gone, her chair empty save for a faint indentation in the cushion.
"Quiet girl," Mrs. Chen remarked, polishing a display case of rare first editions. "Seemed… preoccupied."
Cliff grunted in response, though his eyes lingered on the spot where Heri had sat. The textbook she'd been reading lay abandoned on a side table. He picked it up, thumbing the dog-eared pages. A sticky note fluttered out—Chapter 7: Trauma Responses in Abduction Cases.
He slid the book back onto the shelf, his fingers lingering a beat too long. Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and the world seemed to exhale.
By closing time, the shop felt smaller, as if the quiet had condensed into something tangible. Cliff locked the door, the click of the bolt echoing in the stillness.
"Get home safe," Mr. Chen called, already halfway down the block with his wife.
Cliff stood on the sidewalk, the damp air clinging to his skin. For a moment, he considered walking the long way—past the bus stop, past the alley where shadows pooled like ink. But habit won out. He turned toward his home, the image of Heri's hunched shoulders and white-knuckled grip on that textbook flickering in his mind.
Let it begin, he thought, the words tasting like a promise.