The woman studied him for a moment longer, then stepped out from behind the counter.
"Follow me," she said.
She moved toward a doorway at the back of the shop, partially hidden behind a shelf stacked with clay jars. Gabriel followed without hesitation. The door opened into a narrow corridor that smelled faintly of char and something metallic beneath it.
The workspace lay at the end.
It was functional. No more, no less. A table dominated the centre, its surface scarred by burn marks and stains that had soaked into the wood over years. Shelves lined the walls, filled with tools and materials arranged by use rather than display. Chalk. Iron filings. Glass vials holding liquids of varying clarity.
Cloth bundles tied with string. A brazier sat cold in the corner, ash swept clean from around its base.
The room was warded.
Gabriel felt it the moment he stepped through the threshold. The air pressed differently here, heavier without being oppressive.
