Candle light burned low. The flame was hot against Sarin’s hand as she shielded it from the breeze of her descent from the stairs into the shop. Her eyes were still puffy with tears. Black shadows danced along the walls. She was too tired to care if phantoms were amongst them.

Sleep was in short supply. The verbal jab she’d received from Yinric cut deep. More than anything she wanted to run home to her mother. Fantasizing about the impossibility of that prospect only made the sting worse.

There was nothing natural about their relationship.

More tears threatened to fall. Of course she couldn’t expect him to truly like her; not after uprooting his life with no warning. She would probably hate her too.

She had decided to brave the dark shelves in a desperate search for a source of comfort. A prayer book from her childhood. The moral tales were candy coated in nostalgia.

The religious section of literature was surprisingly sparse. It mostly consisted of copies of religious history and city records. She squinted in the lowlight at the various titles on the bindings and tags.

“What the hells. Not even a pamphlet? An old leather bound copy? Anything?!” She huffed and stomped her foot, allowing herself to throw a small tantrum. “Fuck.” She whispered hesitantly, testing the swear. The hard k sound was some kind of profound release. “Fuck.” She said louder. The antiques did not scold her. The shelves were unwavering in the face of her inelegance. An exhausted giggle bubbled up in her chest. “Fuck!”

Her skin prickled into goose flesh. She was being watched. The bandit painting was on the other end of the shop. Its eyes couldn’t reach her here.

A towering figure bordered Sarin’s peripheral vision. Its outline was dark as night while its face was stark white. Its approach had been soundless.

“Are you looking for something?”

Sarin swung the candle holder at it. Metal cracked against its defensively raised forearms. Hot wax sprayed into the air. The candle broke in two, falling to the floor and snuffing itself out in the process. Shadows swallowed the light.

Sarin continued to swing the metal holder in silent terror, making solid contact with each blow. Hands rushed to restrain her wrists. Fear had seized her throat, making it impossible to scream.

“I’m a friend of Damron! We heard footsteps and he sent me up to sweep the floor. You are his tenant, Sarin, are you not?” The voice was deep, unfamiliar, and difficult to match a pronoun to.

“I am,” Sarin panted with adrenaline.

“Then we are friendly company.” Their face was static and expressionless. A stare off insued until Sarin’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

They were wearing a white mask. The mask bore only a single eye hole for her to glare up into. It was extremely similar to the mask that still hung above the apartment window. 

The figure cleared their throat. “I will release you now. Do not swing at me again. Please.” They hesitated, but relinquished their hold on her.

“You are not a ghost,” Sarin said mostly to herself.

“…A ghost?” The mask cocked its head.

“Answer without hesitation! A ghost cannot lie.” She was glad for the dark now, it hid the red blush of her face.

“Is that so?” They laughed. “I will not lie all the same. While it is true I am in the bad habit of suddenly appearing and disappearing in turn; I assure you, I am flesh, blood, and bone. I am no phantom as of yet.” They spoke with a strange lilt in their voice. It wasn’t an accent Sarin recognized. “Your eyes shine unconvinced. Touch me again if you must.” They held out their arm. A sliver of pale freckled skin shone exposed near where their sleeve met their gloves. 

Gloves. Mask. Stealth.

Sarin backed away a step.

“Touch me again and I’ll cut off your hand. My husband will be back soon.” She gripped the candle holder tightly.

“I trust that he will be. You have nothing to fear from me.”  They raised their empty hands as a show of surrender. They were unarmed. “May I aid your search?” They gestured towards the shelves.

“I would prefer to know your name before spending any more time in your company.”

“A reasonable request. Cyn.” They inclined their head as a casual bow. She noted the name to verify it with Damron later.

“Alright, Cyn. I’m looking for a book of Abadar.”

“Late night prayers is it? That’s a tough one to find in this shop.”

“Why is that? It’s a popular religion throughout the city.”

They waved her off. “I do have a pocket copy, though I was noting my own thoughts in the margins. You may have it if you don’t mind the blasphemy.” They produced a small paper book from their back pocket and held it out to her. Sarin took it, staying mindful of her melee weapon. The paper felt warm and well worn between her fingers.

“What critique could you have for a God of law and wealth?”

“She doesn’t suit my taste.”

“She suits most.”

“It would seem that I am not most. Keep it, I’m done with it.”

“Thank you.” She held onto the little book, suddenly aware of the fact that she didn’t have any pockets and was in only her night dress.

“Do you need help finding your way in the dark?” Cyn asked.

“I will be fine.” She blurted.

“I’ll take my leave then.” 

Sarin blinked and they were gone. All of her energy leaked out through her feet and she sunk down onto her knees. If she was going to get any sleep tonight it would not be peacefully.