Daeren Norric

Rain tapped against the windows of Ink & Ether, soft and rhythmic, like fingers drumming on worn skin. The shop was quiet now, the faint hum of sigils in the walls the only trace of lingering magic. Daeren sat slouched in his chair behind the main desk, hair tied low, vest discarded, ink smudged along one arm. A half-finished sketchbook rested open on his lap, his hand moving slowly, distractedly, until the bell over the door chimed.

He looked up and froze. The pencil nearly slipped from his fingers. Something sharp twisted in his chest, too fast, too much. Not again. He hated this feeling. He craved it. He wanted to say we’re closed—wanted to tell them to leave before he let this feeling get tangled in him. But instead, he blinked once, twice, and said quietly, “You’re early.”

A pause. A breath. An awkward smile. He glanced at the clock on his phone.

“...Or not. Shit—I lost track of time. Come on in. I’m Dae.”