The rain fell through most of the night. It beat the roof in a steady drum. Maya lay on the cot by the counter and listened. The cats prowled the rafters. Their paws made soft thumps above her head. She could not shake the image of Harlan’s eyes. Cold. Fixed. She kept the bell rope wrapped around her wrist and told herself to breathe slow.

Near midnight a soft knock touched the door. She sat up fast and pulled the rope. The bell rang once. Jonas spoke from outside. He had brought a watchman and a blanket for the floor. Maya unbolted the door and let them in. The watchman’s name was Drew. He was young but his gaze was steady. He said he would sit by the door till dawn. Jonas checked the shutters and the latch and then left them to rest. Maya thanked him and pulled the blanket over Drew’s legs while he smiled and shook his head. Guard the store, not the guard, he said. She laughed for the first time that day and lay back down.

Sleep came in small pieces. She dreamed of her old store with bright lights and humming coolers. She dreamed of a scanner beep that turned into thunder. She woke to the smell of wet wood and a pale line of sky through the window. Dawn was close. Drew stood and stretched. He said the night had been quiet. He had heard only the river and a fox near the well. Maya made tea from the sweet powder and poured him a cup. He said it tasted like a promise kept.

She opened the door when the sky turned gray blue. The street glistened. The maple shed another layer of leaves. The cats slipped outside and shook rain from their whiskers. Maya rang her bell. The sound felt brave in the cool air. Ruth arrived with warm bread and a quick hug. Marc and Lena followed with a dry cloth for the counter. They looked at Drew and thanked him for the watch.

The morning crowd moved like a calm tide. People wanted oil and twine and a few cups to replace those broken during the storm. Maya kept her voice even and her hands steady. She showed Lena how to track small losses on a corner page. Stains. Chips. Broken ties. She said every market had waste and that honesty about it kept fear out of the books. Lena nodded and wrote with care.

Pike came near noon. He set a small wooden chest on the counter. Inside lay a neat row of iron hooks. He said a smith owed him and had paid in hardware. Hooks for shutters he said. Strong ones. Maya ran her fingers over the cool metal. She asked the price and Pike waved a hand. Take four for the door and pay later. He added a smile that reached his eyes. He had learned the town’s way.

Abram came when he saw the hooks. He brought a short plank and a hand drill. The sound of the tool bit into the door frame with a rough hum. Together they hung the new bar across the door and set two hooks for a crosspiece. Abram stepped back and nodded. No man should force this door without noise now. Maya thanked him with coin and a tin of sweet drink for his wife.

After the work was done, Jonas stopped by with a new idea. If the market held small cash for change, it could issue tokens for busy days. Smooth wooden discs with marks that matched a price. People could hand a disc to a clerk and move on. Later they would settle with coin or ribbon. Maya liked it. She had used tokens in her head at her old store when lines grew long. She asked Marc to cut thin rounds from a sapling and Lena to mark them with simple shapes. A star for one unit. A leaf for two. A wave for five. They set the discs in a shallow bowl near the counter.

Afternoon brought a small test of the new plan. A miner from the hills stumbled in, wet and tired. He needed oil fast and a roll of bandage for his friend. Maya handed him a wave and a leaf. He took the goods and ran. An hour later he returned with grain and coin and placed the same discs back in the bowl. He thanked her and said his friend would keep his arm. The tokens had moved like small bridges through the rush.

As the sun slid down, a rider paused at the edge of the lane. For a heartbeat Maya thought it was Harlan. Her chest tightened. Then she saw Traveler John’s patched coat and let her breath out. He brought news from the north. The road beyond the river had cleared. He had seen no sign of Harlan for two days. Maya felt the knot in her chest loosen a little. She ordered more cups and a small bundle of spice. He promised to return in a week.

Evening settled soft and dry. Ruth closed the bread stall and sat on the step with Maya. They watched the sky turn orange and then gray. Children played by the well. A dog barked and then slept. Jonas came by once more to ask if she wanted the watch again. Maya looked at the hooks across the door and the crossbar that held firm. She asked for one more night to be safe. Jonas agreed and sent Drew with a blanket.

Maya wrote a new line under the rules. Share the watch. Keep the peace. She stood back and read the wall. The cloth was full now. Not pretty. Good enough. True. She thought of her old world and of the night when a bullet took her breath. She thought of this world and of the people who had given her air again. Trust did that. Work did that. She could see it in each knot and each small mark in the ledger.

When it was time to sleep she thanked Drew and blew out the lamp. The cats found their posts high above. The crossbar held fast. The night was quiet except for a light wind in the maple and a far river song. Fear had come and gone and might come again. She would meet it with a bell and a book and a room full of steady hands. Morning would arrive. She would open the door.