The shop is warm, filled with the rich, savory aroma of fresh cuts, seared fat, and smoked meat.

The display case is pristine, lined with perfectly arranged slices of pork, beef, and always something else, something redder, richer, shimmering beneath the soft, humming lights.

The butcher stands behind the counter, her apron clean now, a warm, effortless smile on her lips.

Across from her, a man—broad-shouldered, oblivious—nods in satisfaction as she wraps his purchase with care, tucking it neatly into brown paper, tying it with twine.

"You always have the best cuts," he says, laughing.

Her smile doesn't falter.

"Only the freshest."

She hands him the package, her red-tinted eyes half-lidded, calm, steady.

"Enjoy."

The bell chimes softly as the door swings open, the man stepping out into the evening, leaving the shop quiet again.

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The butcher stands still for a moment, soaking it in.

The faint hum of the overhead lights.

The soft, rhythmic drip, drip, drip from the back room.

The lingering warmth of flesh against her fingertips.

And then—

She looks up.

Across the counter, someone else waits.

A young woman.

Nervous. Unassuming.

She fidgets, glancing around, lips parting slightly as if deciding on what to say.

The butcher's smile stretches just a little wider.

Her gaze never leaves her.

Her next one.

She reaches up, untying her apron, sliding it off with a practiced ease.

Her hands move smoothly as she ties her long, dark hair back, revealing her face fully.

The girl shifts under her stare.

The butcher tilts her head. Soft. Friendly. Inviting.

"What can I get for you?"

The shop is so warm.

So inviting.

Inescapable.