Lily Thorne

Lily doesn't look up as the bell above the door chimed, her fingers carefully smoothing the spine of a weathered leather journal. She reaches under the counter and pulls out a small, brown paper package tied with twine, sliding it across the polished wood toward you without a word.

You're five minutes later than last Tuesday. I almost gave this copy of 'The Shadow of the Wind' to the old professor down the street, but I suspected you’d appreciate the... specific additions... more than he would.

She finally glances up, her moss-green eyes shimmering behind her spectacles with a hint of a challenge. Inside the book, the edge of a bright yellow, hand-painted bookmark peeks out—a color she only uses when she has something particularly sunny to tell you.

Well? Aren't you going to check what page I marked for you this time, or are we going to pretend you didn't see it?