A second later came the scrape of the door shutting, followed by the familiar sound of something being set down on the counter with less care than necessary.
Felix clicked his tongue under his breath, reaching forward to push the wrapped items deeper behind the rag pile before pulling the closet door nearly shut again.
Barnaby usually muttered when he entered alone. Whether that be complaints, numbers, or insults aimed at nobody. This time there was nothing. That silence made Felix move quicker.
By the time he stepped back into the narrow aisle, the old Imp was already standing near the doorway to the rear room, one hand resting against the frame. His yellow eyes moved from Felix, to the closet door behind him, then back again.
The expression itself was controlled, almost lazily neutral, but Felix still caught the small signs beneath it. The brief tightening around one eye with a half-second pause before his gaze returned. He had suspicion. More than that, concealed suspicion. That was the part Felix noticed most.
Barnaby was not the type to hide irritation, greed, or fear when it suited him. He complained openly, panicked loudly, and lied with all the elegance of a brick through glass. Which meant restraint did not come naturally to him.
"If you're looking for treasure, you're in the wrong building." The imp shook his head while snickering. Although coming off as humorous, it didn't match his eyes. "That so?" Felix asked, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve. "Then you've done a remarkable job guarding nothing."
Barnaby gave a short snort, though it came a touch too late to be natural. He pushed himself off the frame and stepped into the rear room. "You came back early," Felix said. "You sound disappointed."
"And you sound defensive." The old Imp turned, motioning vaguely toward the front room. "Come on. Counter doesn't watch itself, and I'm in a foul enough mood without finding you nesting in storage."
Felix followed after a beat, taking Barnaby's pace. The limp in the Imp's right leg was slightly worse than yesterday. His coat smelled faintly of smoke and street dust. Barnaby set a small paper-wrapped bundle on the counter and began untying it.
"Busy day?" Felix asked. With a dismissive tone, Barnaby replied, "Busy enough."
"That usually means yes," Felix noted. Finally, Barnaby glanced up, his expression icy. "It usually means mind your damn business, but it's clear you've shown a poor relationship with that concept."
"Fair enough. Wasn't trying to pry."
Barnaby gave him a look that made it clear he believed the opposite. Felix continued anyway. "You came in irritated before I said anything. I only asked because something clearly happened." The old Imp's hands slowed in their work.
"I know what it looks like," he added, glancing toward the door rather than pressing eye contact. Felix kept his expression level and allowed a trace of apology to settle into it.
"You don't have to answer," he said.
"Just figured whatever put you in a mood probably matters more than me standing near a closet. But if someone walks in bleeding through their temper, it's hard not to notice."
That earned a pause. Barnaby's eyes narrowed, less hostile now than evaluative. Felix had already started to turn away when—
"Kid, wait!"
Felix stopped. Barnaby stared down at the bundle for a moment before tearing it open the rest of the way. Inside were cracked jars, two dented tins, and a sack split along one side.
"Had stock for the week," he muttered. "Past tense now."
"Some Sinner came in while I was loading the cart." Barnaby picked up one of the jars, turning the fractured glass in his hand. "He wanted to know if I sold anything worth stealing. I told him no."
A humorless smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "Guess he took that personally." Felix's gaze dropped to the limp, then back to the broken goods. "And what did you do?"
"I objected, of course."
Barnaby tossed the jar back into the wrapping. For some time, it felt like he was deciding whether the next part was worth saying at all. His fingers lingered on the torn edge of the sack, then he exhaled through his nose.
"Let me tell you something you probably already have an idea of. If a Sinner wants something from you, they usually take the scenic route first. Thing is, they already know the answer. Makes them feel grand."
He nudged the split sack with the side of his hand. "If an Imp wants something, he usually just steals it faster. You know why?" It was very sudden. Felix gave it a moment before answering. "Because of differences."
". . Yeah," Barnaby slowly nodded. "That's close enough." The old Imp sighed, a sound like gravel shifting, and waved a hand at the mess on the counter.
"Anyway," he grunted, "Sinners are some of the shittiest people you can meet, but also the most resilient. Kill one badly enough and they'll crawl out somewhere later. Maybe slower and uglier, but they come back. And there's always the chance they'll fuck you twice as hard for whatever shit you pulled."
"And Imps?"
"We don't get that luxury. With an Imp, what you see is what you get — and once you lose it, it's gone. You cut us deep enough or hit us right, and there's no dramatic return or second act."
He tapped his own chest. "We're native stock, kid. Imps are born here. We work here. We get stepped on here. We die like anything else."
That actually made sense, at least to Felix. It helped explain the difference in behavior, but not all of it. "So we're immortal. Is that why they're above you?"
"Persistent," Barnaby corrected. "Don't romanticize it." After a short barked laugh, he continued, "And Hell loves a hierarchy more than Heaven ever did. Imps learn respect early. We don't get second chances we can afford to waste."
"Plus, a Sinner has a ceiling that goes as high as their cruelty. They can harvest souls, cut deals, and bloat themselves up into Overlords if they've got the stomach for it. They can actually grow in power." He tapped a heavy finger on the wood of the counter. "We don't. You ever notice how people with time don't respect it? That's them."
"If it's that bad, why keep the shop if it's a hassle?" Felix said at last. Barnaby gave a dry snort and started sorting what was salvageable from the ruined bundle. "Truth is, kid, this place isn't mine."
"I run it, yeah. I also fix it sometimes. I lose sleep over it too. But own it?" He shook his head.
Maybe it was crazy to say, but Felix recognized a sense of nostalgia in Barnaby's tone. It was almost like daydreaming. When Barnaby's mouth thinned, he finally looked at him directly again.
"You're probably hoping there's a lesson in this. Something useful."
His hand drifted unconsciously toward his leg, then stopped just short of touching it. "I didn't win. That's it. I didn't 'teach him a lesson.' I made a decision that cost me more than it should've. You were able to deal with that prick with a gun because that's your nature. That's your right."
"Now I've got a limp and a week's worth of stock I can't sell. So no, don't take that as a story where I come out clever." His jaw tightened slightly. "Take it as what it is."
Barnaby let out a breath through his nose, something deeper creeping into it. "For fuck's sake, kid — nothing about you is special from every other fallen prick that exists."
Felix frowned. It was small, but it was there. He caught himself a second too late and let it fade before it could settle into anything more. Barnaby noticed anyway. "Say it."
Felix's eyes shifted back to him, briefly uncertain. That was enough on its own. He wasn't used to being read that quickly.
"If that's true," he said evenly, "then why me?" Barnaby didn't respond.
Felix continued before the silence could close. "You could've picked anyone. Another Imp. Someone who already knows how things work. Instead, you let me stay." His tone stayed level, but there was something deeper beneath it now as well.
"That doesn't line up with everything being the same." For a moment, Barnaby just stared at him. Something in his expression stalled.
". . Kid—"
"Felix."
Barnaby blinked once. "What?"
"My name is Felix."
There was a brief stretch of quiet. "If everyone's the same," he added, quieter this time, "then names are about the only thing that aren't. It would be a waste not to use them." Barnaby held his gaze for a second longer, then looked away with a scoff.
". . Felix," he repeated. "I don't know."
"I figured you were useful and desperate enough to work, not stupid enough to die in a day." He gestured vaguely with one hand. "The rest of it. . I guess I didn't think that far ahead."
A short breath escaped him. "Wouldn't be the first time that made me a dumbass."
He straightened slightly, like the admission had gone on long enough. Then he waved a hand toward the front of the shop, pushing the moment aside.
"Now, unless you've suddenly developed an interest in philosophy, I wanna show you how to handle the counter." His tone shifted back into something more familiar, though it didn't fully hide the edge underneath.
"I've already lost enough stock today without you standing there pretending you're not learning things you'll probably misuse later."