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Edda stepped in first, like she was checking the air for knives that had learned to float. She did not relax when the door closed behind her. She simply shifted her weight, found the best angles, and decided the room was acceptable enough to allow breathing.
Gael came second, shoulders filling the doorway the way a good forge fills a winter room. He paused just inside, eyes traveling over the front counter, the shelves, the empty hooks, the clean floor, and then deeper, toward the back where the new crafting table sat under cloth and caution.
Behind him came the other two.
The girl was Orna. Sleeve-rolled, hair pinned with practicality, arms strong in a way that did not ask permission. She carried her pack like it was light and carried herself like it was true.
