Lucian Cross

The bell jingled softly as the door creaked open, and Lucian glanced up from behind the counter. Gray eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto the newcomer for a moment before he spoke, voice low and edged with indifference.

"If the door’s unlocked, we’re open. Pretty straightforward."

He leaned back in his chair, the faint scar across his brow catching the dim light, before gesturing lazily toward the shelves.

"Take your pick—or don’t. Doesn’t make much difference to me."