The rain didn't start as a drizzle. It came all at once, a curtain drawn fast and hard over the city streets.
Elira Voss regretted not taking the longer, covered route. Her umbrella had lasted exactly one block before the wind yanked it sideways and flung it under a carriage. She stood there in the downpour for a second, contemplating whether to chase it.
Then she just sighed and kept walking.
By the time she reached the shop, her coat was soaked through, her boots squelching slightly with every step. Dorian's Curiosities didn't look any more inviting than usual, same tilted sign, same faintly buzzing lantern, but the lights were on.
That struck her as odd.
It was well past closing.
She raised her hand and knocked.
A pause. Then another knock, a bit louder.
There was a soft clatter from inside, wood on metal? and then the door cracked open just an inch. One eye peeked out.
"Elira?" Dorian blinked. "You know we're closed, right?"
"Yes," she said, pushing the door slightly more open with her hand. "But I'm already wet and I'm not going back out there."
Dorian stepped back, clearly unsure if this was a visit or an arrest.
"Uh… come in, then."
She stepped inside and immediately left a puddle where she stood.
"I'll grab a towel," he muttered, disappearing into the back room. When he returned, she had already peeled off her coat and dropped it near the door. She took the towel and rubbed at her hair, sending damp strands clinging to her cheekbones.
"You could've sent a letter," Dorian said, folding his arms. "Or waited for daylight like a normal person."
"Didn't feel like waiting," Elira replied.
He made a small sound that might have been a sigh and gestured toward the stove, where a kettle was starting to steam. "You want tea or just answers?"
"Both."
They stood in silence as the tea steeped. Outside, the rain got even heavier, thundering against the roof in long, rolling waves.
"I'm not here to arrest you," Elira said finally, voice softer now.
"That's comforting," Dorian said. "Most people start conversations with hello."
She didn't rise to the bait. She just looked at him, really looked, like she was studying something fragile or dangerous.
"I... want you to stop selling these things."
Dorian blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The artifacts," she said. "The curses. The treasures, things with missing histories. Stop. Just… stop."
He leaned against the counter. "Why would I do that? That's literally my business."
"I know," she said. "But you're not normal. You know you're not. Everyone who's crossed your path ends up twisted in some way. They either disappear, break, or they survive something they shouldn't. You..." she caught herself. "You saved my life."
Dorian opened his mouth to argue but paused.
Wait. I did?
She nodded. "I just wanted to say thank you. And maybe… I don't know. Ask you not to make things worse."
He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. Mostly because he had no idea what he was being thanked for.
"Anytime," he said, hoping that would cover it.
They both went quiet again.
After a moment, he poured her a cup of tea and nudged it toward her. She accepted it with a small nod and sat on the old stool near the counter. Her legs stuck to the seat a bit from the wet fabric, and she tugged at her shirt with a grimace.
"Do you mind if I borrow something dry?" she asked.
Dorian blinked. "I, uh… I think there's an old shirt upstairs. A bit large, but it's dry."
"That'll do."
He fetched it. When he returned, she'd already moved behind the folding screen near the fireplace, towel draped over one shoulder.
There was a beat of silence.
Then the unmistakable sound of wet fabric being peeled off damp skin.
"I... I'll just leave it here."
Dorian froze.
She was changing. Right there. Technically behind the screen, but right there.
He turned his attention to the counter.
To the lantern.
To the wall.
To.
"Ah," he muttered, spotting the row of ceramic frogs on the bottom shelf. "My little guys."
He picked up a porcelain frog.
It was the same one he kept meaning to throw away. Slightly chipped, wearing a tiny monocle. He turned it over in his hands as if it might reveal secrets.
The sound of cloth brushing against skin continued.
He flipped the frog upside down, then back again. It suddenly became very important to inspect the base for structural stability.
One was missing an eye. One had a monocle. He carefully straightened them.
The floor was also... incredibly floor-like tonight. Very flat. Exceptionally horizontal. Probably the most floor it had ever been.
He crouched. Checked it again. Still floor.
From behind the screen, fabric slid into place.
"I'm done," Elira said softly.
Dorian rose, very deliberately, and looked over.
When Elira stepped out in the oversized shirt. damp hair over one shoulder, bare legs visible beneath the hem. Dorian was still examining the floor.
"You good?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said quickly. "Floor's holding up. Structurally sound. Important in a building."
She gave him a look and didn't push it.
They sat there for a while, sipping tea. The thunder rolled low outside, like the world was groaning in its sleep.
"You could have shut the door in my face," she said after a bit.
"I considered it," Dorian admitted.
"Why didn't you?"
He looked into his cup. "Because you didn't come here with a badge."
Elira smiled faintly.
"Is... Is it weird I wanted to believe you were a good guy?"
"Yes," he said. "Extremely weird."
She laughed at that, soft and genuine.
Lightning flashed again, this time close enough to shake the windowpane. The lights flickered.
"Well," she said, standing. "I should probably."
There was a loud crack, and the storm outside howled louder.
Dorian opened the door.
Sheets of rain slammed against the street. The sky looked like it was trying to drown the whole city.
"…You were saying?" he asked.
Elira stood there for a moment, staring into the wall of water.
Then she turned around. "Got another dry towel?"
He nodded and fetched it.
They set up a makeshift bedding arrangement, cushions pulled from the old couch, spare blankets, and the warm flicker of the stove.
Elira sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping her second cup of tea. The shirt had slipped off one shoulder slightly, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'm going back to the Covenant. I'll tell them I'm still investigating."
Dorian nodded. "Smart."
She looked at him again. That long, measuring look.
"You know... You're not exactly what I expected."
"Heh... I get that a lot."
Another beat passed. Then, quieter. "But I still think there's more to you than you realize."
Dorian didn't answer.
Eventually, she curled under the blanket, one arm thrown across the cushion.
"Wake me up if you need anything." she muttered.
Dorian, still holding the frog, looked down at it with suspicion.
He set it back on the shelf.
And as the thunder rolled and the storm howled, Dorian sat in his own shop, in the dim glow of a single oil lamp, wondering.
Not about the storm. Not even about Elira.
But about why someone would thank a man for something he never did.
And why, deep down, it still made him feel like a fraud.