A golden layer of sunshine coated the late afternoon streets of Harthem in a thin film as Misa walked the usual path that led to Sha’ka’s business. Torren trailed behind her, still stiff and rigid even without the uniform he always wore. Misa refrained from asking him to relax for the fifth time, knowing Torren would revert back to his posture even if he chose to listen to her.
Without Misa having to ask, Torren fell back and loitered at the front of the store, watching the entrance like a guard. Misa brushed past the soft cloths displaying their vibrant color and slipped through the small entrance that led to the dark room filled with ancient faces.
As Sha’ka had promised, Brin sat at the round table, resting her round chin on a hand and rapping her fingers against the cloth
