After working for a while on the items that needed repairs, Ivaim straightened up, brushing the dust from his hands.
The quiet creak of the door opening drew his attention, and he instinctively turned his head toward the sound.
'Customers? Is it the private ones that Maris told me about?'
The thought crossed his mind as he moved toward the counter, his movements steady but casual. As he reached the front, his eyes fell on the two figures who had just entered.
The first was a tall man with a stern demeanor, his sharp features framed by a well-groomed beard. He was dressed in a formal suit, the kind that looked out of place in the humble workshop. His posture was rigid, every movement deliberate.
Beside him stood a boy, around twelve years old, with the same wavy black hair as the man. The boy's clothes were neat but less formal—a simple dark jacket and trousers.
