Chapter 149

• The morning had been moving slowly, the way mornings sometimes do when the city is still waking up. I had opened the boutique the same way I always did, lights one by one, curtains drawn back, windows open just enough to let in the air. The air carried that clean, unsettled smell that comes after a night of rain—fresh, but still holding onto the damp. I had the front door propped open to let it flow through the space, thinking about the stack of supplier updates I still needed to review before lunch.
• I was in the back workroom, bent over a box of fabric swatches, when the sound came. It started as a low hum—voices, layered and restless—but it didn’t drift away the way passing conversations do. It settled right in front of the shop, the rhythm of it growing until I could catch the edges of words. Unethical sourcing. Hidden suppliers. Cheap labour.
• I straightened slowly, one hand resting on the worktable.