A woman's faint, trembling plea slipped beneath the steady clanging of the workshop hammer, so quiet and fragile that Hajin caught only one broken word at a time.
"Please help me... before the shopkeeper returns to this shelf," the ethereal voice whispered directly into his consciousness, laced with desperation.
His hand hovered motionless above an unfinished leather gauntlet while the pungent, stinging scent of hot oil and scorched forge coal filled the crowded front shop.
Juna noticed the sudden, unnatural stillness in his posture, her sensitive silver ears swiveling sharply toward the dusty, shadow-draped storage shelves behind them.
"Someone just asked for help," he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing as he turned away from the glass counter.
"The voice came from behind those warped shelves in the back corner," he added, pointing a finger toward the dim corridor.
