The bell jingles as I enter the shop, and the warmth wraps around me, mingling with the faint smell of solder and coffee. It’s cozy, cluttered with wires and a jumble of electronics that seem both chaotic and inviting.
Behind the counter, a man in his thirties looks up, dark hair pulled into a short ponytail, and glasses perched on his forehead. He grins at me, bright and welcoming.
“Welcome to tech purgatory!” he exclaims, his voice full of energy. “Where electronics come to either be saved or properly mourned. I’m Leo Tran, your friendly neighborhood tech guy.”
“Sloane,” I reply, taking a moment to scan the shelves, soaking in the atmosphere.
“Nice to meet you, Sloane!” he replies. “Are you visiting someone in town? We don’t usually get many new faces.”
“Yeah, just spending some time in the area,” I say, keeping it light. “I need a burner phone. Something basic but secure.”
Leo's brow lifts, intrigued. “Secure, huh? Sounds like you might need a little drama in your life. Don’t worry; we have just the thing for that.”
He quickly retrieves a sleek black phone, unmarked except for a single blue dot on the back.
“This beauty has signal scrambling, GPS spoofing, and—” he taps the blue dot, “a panic button that wipes everything ifyou enter the wrong passcode three times. Perfect for avoiding unwanted company.”
“Sounds perfect. What’s the catch?”
“Just your friendly newcomer discount. You look like someone worth keeping around.” He winks, and the levity eases the tension in my shoulders.
“Great. I’ll take it,” I say, appreciating the light-hearted banter.
I pay and tuck the phone into my bag, feeling a renewed sense of control settle in, and I can’t help but smile. “Thanks, Leo. I’ll definitely be back for some tech wizardry.”
“Anytime! Always happy to welcome a new face!” he calls as I step outside into the chill.
With my new phone secured, I drive slowly through town, letting the scenery sink in.
As I navigate the familiar roads, something catches my eye. A quaint building, its warm glow spilling out into the street, readsIron Hollow Books. The sign hanging crookedly on the door invites me in, and curiosity tugs at me.
I park my truck and step inside, the bell chiming softly above me. The coziness envelops me: sunlit spaces filled with dust motes, towering shelves, and the comforting scent of paper and vanilla.
A woman behind the counter looks up from her reading—a silver-streaked woman in her mid-50s, her smile warm and inviting.
“New face,” she says kindly, closing her book. “Are you visiting someone?”
“Just passing through,” I respond, taking in the inviting atmosphere.
“Well, I’m glad you stopped by! Most folks just rush past. My name’s Dana Fletcher. Let me know if you need help finding something.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dana. I’m Sloane,” I reply, my pulse easing.
“Is this your first time in Iron Hollow?” she asks, her curiosity genuine.
“Yeah, I just moved to the area,” I say, my mind momentarily drifting.
Dana’s eyes light up. “Isn’t it beautiful here? I’ve lived in a few places, but Iron Hollow has its own magic.”
“I think I’m starting to see that,” I admit, glancing around at the stacks of books.
I notice a dog-eared paperback on the counter. The cover catches my attention—a guide to wilderness survival, fitting for my current setting.
“Are you into survivalist stuff?” Dana asks, noticing my interest.
“Just thought it might come in handy,” I reply lightly. “I’m a freelance journalist—mostly political corruption stories.”
“You sound like quite the brave soul,” she says, her smile widening with warmth. “There’s nothing like the thrill of chasing the truth.”
