***Cassius***
The shop was small but well-built, positioned where the main street met the harbor road. Large windows faced the street, perfect for displaying herbs or letting in light, the door was solid wood, weathered but functional.
Chris produced a key and opened it.
Inside was dusty but sound. The main room was good-sized, with shelves built into the walls, a large worktable in the center, a small hearth in one corner. A door at the back led to a storage room and stairs up to the living quarters.
"It's not much," Chris said apologetically. "But it's clean and dry. Good bones, just needs someone to make it a home again."
I walked through the space, touching the shelves, imagining herbs drying here, patients sitting there, myself working at that table mixing remedies.
Mine. This could be mine.
"It's perfect," I said honestly.
