01-08-2025, 08:19 PM
The shop was cramped, its dim lighting casting a faint yellow haze over shelves lined with dusty, boxed goods. The air smelled faintly of stale spices and damp cardboard. Grym moved methodically, gathering her usuals—canned fish, rye crackers, instant coffee—keeping her head down but her senses sharp.
Her gaze slid to the window as she approached the register. The gopniks outside lingered near the graffiti-streaked wall, their postures loose, almost bored. But she knew better. That kind of stillness wasn’t harmless. It was a readiness, a predator's patience. Still, they hadn’t made a move yet.
What tightened her grip on the jar of pickles in her hand wasn’t the gang outside—it was the man a few aisles over. He moved like smoke, his footsteps soft against the scuffed linoleum. It’s not that he was pretending to browse, but something about him made her pay attention.
He wore the kind of jacket that didn’t belong here—not too clean, not too shabby, but perfectly forgettable in a way that made Grym’s instincts scream. Everything about him was too precise: the way his boots pointed forward like he was ready to pivot, the casual angle of his head that let her track his reflection in the freezer doors.
Dangerous, her gut whispered. More dangerous than the gopniks out there.
She kept walking, her expression calm, as she approached the register.
Her gaze slid to the window as she approached the register. The gopniks outside lingered near the graffiti-streaked wall, their postures loose, almost bored. But she knew better. That kind of stillness wasn’t harmless. It was a readiness, a predator's patience. Still, they hadn’t made a move yet.
What tightened her grip on the jar of pickles in her hand wasn’t the gang outside—it was the man a few aisles over. He moved like smoke, his footsteps soft against the scuffed linoleum. It’s not that he was pretending to browse, but something about him made her pay attention.
He wore the kind of jacket that didn’t belong here—not too clean, not too shabby, but perfectly forgettable in a way that made Grym’s instincts scream. Everything about him was too precise: the way his boots pointed forward like he was ready to pivot, the casual angle of his head that let her track his reflection in the freezer doors.
Dangerous, her gut whispered. More dangerous than the gopniks out there.
She kept walking, her expression calm, as she approached the register.
‡‡ GRYM ‡‡