The Antique Shop

Lathel had no idea that the plan he had not even begun yet had already become suspicious in the eyes of the three people following behind him.

He simply kept walking, quietly memorizing the shops he could return to and ask about later.

Lathel did not need a good job.

He only needed one that paid enough to live.

Being unable to speak was certainly a problem, but he had lived this way for far too long to despair over it anymore. If one shopkeeper refused him, he would simply try another. If he could not do work that required talking to customers, he could carry goods, tend horses, copy books, or work in a warehouse.

The city was enormous.

There had to be somewhere that needed an extra pair of hands.

Lathel was still thinking about it when he suddenly stopped after taking a few more steps.

A strange sensation had brushed across his chest.

He frowned.

It did not hurt.