The quiet bookshop smelled of old parchment, ink, and dust—the kind of place where time slowed and the world beyond its doors felt miles away. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the air.
Cedric stood by one of the shelves in the far corner, his blonde hair catching the light. He was thumbing through an old, weathered volume from the attic collection — something about ancient Veridian folklore — when a sudden movement at his side startled him.
Isadora, distracted by the row of books on ancient charms, turned at the same moment, and they bumped lightly into each other.
"Oh — I'm so sorry," Isadora said, stepping back, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Cedric blinked, then gave a soft, apologetic laugh. "No, no — entirely my fault. I wasn't watching where I was standing," he said, his blue eyes warm.
An awkward beat of silence passed before he spoke again.
"Lady Isadora, isn't it?"
