The boy led Maya along a dirt path and kept glancing at her shoes and the clip on her apron. He said his name was Eli and that his mother sold bread by the well. Maya thanked him and tried to breathe steady.

They passed timber and clay houses. Smoke rose from roofs. A woman stared. Men shoved a wagon. No one spoke to Maya. Every look said the same thing. Stranger. Odd clothes.

She checked her phone. The screen stayed black. She held it like a charm and told herself to plan. She had survived the store and the bullet. Now she had to survive this place. Start simple. Water. Food. Shelter. Trust.

At the well a woman kneaded dough. Eli tugged her skirt and pointed. The woman studied Maya. Her face eased. She asked if Maya was hurt. Maya said no. The woman poured a cup of water.

The woman said her name was Ruth and asked where Maya came from. Maya tried to explain bright lights and cars. Ruth blinked as if the words were wind. She asked again. Where is your family. Maya could not answer. Ruth set a warm loaf on the table. Eat first. Then talk.

Maya tore a piece. It was simple and good and reminded her of the white loaves at the store. Here nothing had labels. People bartered. Hands did the work that scanners used to do. A spark lit inside her. She knew how to sell. She knew how to keep a shelf clean.

Ruth asked if Maya had a trade. Maya said she could count money and track stock. The town had no shop, Ruth said. Traders came with carts and left fast. People bought when they could and went without when carts stayed away. The town needed salt and soap and needles. Oil for lamps. Shoes for winter.

Maya asked if there was an empty shed. Ruth said an old grain shed near the north field stood empty after rats chewed the harvest. The roof leaked. The door hung on a bent hinge. No one wanted it. Maya asked to see it. Ruth said yes and sent Eli for the key from the steward who kept records for the headman.

They walked to the edge of town. The shed stood under a crooked maple. From far away it looked like a broken tooth. Up close it smelled of dust. Maya pushed the door. It scraped the ground. Eli wedged a stone so it would stay open.

Maya stood in the center. The floor was packed earth. The walls had gaps wide enough for wind. Holes in the roof showed blue sky. But the space was square and near the road. Travelers would see it. It had a small window and a place for a counter. She saw it in her mind. A broom. A shelf. A jar for coins. A sign from a scrap board.

Ruth asked if Maya was sure. Maya nodded. She would need straw to seal gaps and clay to patch holes. A latch for the door. Ruth said the steward might lend tools if the headman agreed. He liked order more than risk.

Back in the square they waited for the steward. Maya watched the traders with new eyes. Need. Price. Trade. She noted what sold fast. Salt. Soap. Twine.

The steward came in a coat. His name was Jonas. He asked why a stranger wanted a shed. Maya said she had an idea for a market where common goods could be found in one spot. He asked how she would stop rats. She said with cats and tight jars and swept floors. Jonas did not smile but he did not say no.

He said the headman wanted less chaos. Carts blocked the well and people fought over small things. If Maya could bring order he would bless the idea. She must pay rent and keep a list of what she sold. She must help in lean months. Maya agreed. Jonas gave a curt nod and the iron key.

Start at dawn, he said. Maya closed her hand around the key. The weight felt steady. For the first time since she woke in the grass she had more than fear. She had a task and a place to stand. She would make a small store the way she knew back home. Simple and honest.

That night Ruth gave Maya a cot near the oven. Eli slept on the floor with a dog at his back. Maya stared into the dark and missed the cooler buzz and blue card reader light. Tomorrow she would sweep and mend and open the door.