Razeal came down the stairs, his footsteps slow and even. He had washed up, tied his shoulder-length hair back, and tossed on his usual worn black robe and ghost mask on his face. The shop was quiet no hum of customers, no rustling of books or clinking of potion jars. Just the low creak of old wood under his boots.
Levy was where he always was sitting behind the counter, slouched in the same chair as yesterday and probably the one before that. His head rested on one hand, elbow propped up, his eyes fixed on the street outside. He didn't bother looking at Razeal. Didn't speak either..
Razeal didn't say anything either.
He walked straight toward the exit, but he stopped suddenly as something snagged the edge of his attention. Lying by the corner of the wooden gate, half in shadow, was that spaceal pouch the one from yesterday. His gaze paused on it but it only lingered for a second. He rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and kept walking.
