“Moonlit Curio sits on a narrow side street and smells faintly of ozone and lemon oil. Behind a latticed window, shelves crowd with bottles, boxes, and jars that rattle when the wind moves through the alley. The shopkeeper is talkative and precise; they name the provenance of an item before the customer asks. They insist on polishing any purchased item before a sale and will haggle only if the buyer offers an odd trinket in trade. A small mechanical songbird perches on the counter and announces closing time in three languages. The shop hums with a low protective ward that causes small sparks to run across metal coins at the threshold when a lie is spoken aloud.”