Tony stopped at the edge of the unfamiliar street, blinking up at the crooked, wood-framed sign that read:
> Dorri Dorris' Tea Shop
It hung slightly tilted above a squat little corner building nestled between a dusty bookstore and a vintage suit tailor. Oddly enough, Tony had never seen any of these shops before. And this street—he couldn't recall ever walking down it.
The storefront was charming in an almost storybook way. The glass windows were fogged from the inside, but intricate etchings of vines and stars adorned the panes. Small planters with blooming herbs—lavender, rosemary, and something unidentifiable—sat on the sill, their scents mingling faintly in the air. The door itself was deep cherrywood, polished and aged, with a bell looped delicately at the top.
Tony stood there for a moment, reluctant.
Something about the stillness of the street—the way the wind seemed to avoid the shop, the low hush in the air—gave him pause.
He pulled out his phone and tapped Clay's contact.
Ringing… ringing… nothing.
"Come on, man," Tony muttered. He tried again. Still no answer.
He started tapping his foot, glancing around. The street, though full of parked cars and occasional passersby, felt like it wasn't really there. He narrowed his eyes and slowly turned away from the tea shop.
Maybe something happened. Maybe Clay was attacked. Maybe—
Thud.
Tony recoiled, stumbling back.
He had hit something.
But there was nothing there.
He stepped forward and pressed his hand outward again. His palm landed against something solid and cool—glasslike, but invisible. He pushed slightly. It didn't give. He felt ridiculous, miming like a street performer trying to escape an invisible box. A couple of passersby gave him odd glances. He backed off quickly.
Turning back to the tea shop, he noticed something.
Faint golden arrows shimmered across the fogged window and floorboards, curving toward the door, vanishing unless you looked directly at them.
Tony exhaled slowly. "Guess I don't have much of a choice."
He pushed open the door.
Ding-ding.
The bell chimed overhead, and the scent of warm spices, flowers, and wood smoke enveloped him instantly. It was... cozy. Mysteriously cozy. Like the air itself had texture and weight.
Inside, the tea shop was narrow but deep, with dark wooden shelves lining the walls, stacked high with tins and glass jars filled with leaves, powders, dried roots, and strange seeds. Teapots of every size and shape rested on mantels and shelves—some painted, some cracked, some gently steaming despite no visible flame.
The walls were filled with portraits of Dorri.
But none of them were the same.
One showed him in a Victorian waistcoat pouring tea into a dragon's mouth. Another had him meditating in midair while holding six floating saucers. A third had him laughing at a chessboard while playing against a reflection of himself. Some paintings moved. Others blinked. A few subtly changed when Tony looked away and back again.
At the center of the room was a wooden counter where a girl stood with her back turned, rinsing something in the sink behind her.
She turned as Tony approached.
She was tall and willowy, dressed in a deep plum apron with lace trim. Her hair was jet black and coiled in a thick braid over one shoulder, decorated with star-shaped pins. Her eyes were sharp—mismatched, one green and one grey—and despite her pleasant smile, they sized him up with the precision of a knife.
A small gold nameplate on her apron read: Andra.
Tony opened his mouth. "Uh… hi. I'm looking for... Dorri?"
Andra stared at him for a moment.
Then gave a small, graceful nod. "Take a seat."
Tony hesitated. "Oh...kay?"
Golden arrows shimmered faintly again, leading to a small round table near the window. He made his way over and sat.
Andra followed after him, grabbing a notepad and brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "What would you like to drink?"
"Uh, I'm fine, actually. I didn't really come for—"
"We have moonflower oolong, honey mist hibiscus, cold steep obsidian mint…" She paused and tilted her head. "Or just water?"
Tony blinked. "Do you have… water?"
Her smile deepened, almost mischievously. "We do indeed."
She turned and walked behind the counter, retrieving a plain ceramic mug from a cabinet. She filled it from a tap Tony hadn't noticed before—its spout shaped like a fox's mouth—and walked back to set it gently in front of him.
Tony raised an eyebrow and took the cup. "So... how long until Dorri shows up?"
Andra was already turning back toward the counter.
"He'll be here in no time," she said. "Just rest. Drink."
Something about her voice made Tony pause. He glanced down at the water.
It looked perfectly normal.
Crystal clear.
He sighed. "Alright," he muttered, bringing the mug to his lips.
He drank.
And in an instant—he vanished.
Puff.
Not a loud bang or a flash of light. Just a soft exhale of air where he had been.
Andra, unbothered, returned to the table, picked up the now-empty mug, and walked calmly back behind the counter. She rinsed it clean and placed it on a drying rack, humming a faint, tuneless melody under her breath.
In the stillness of the shop, the portraits on the wall shifted ever so slightly.
One of them now showed Dorri seated at a tea table with two chairs, one occupied, before him.