All my attempts to make Liz explain what she meant earlier failed completely. No matter how gently or how directly I tried, her expression didn't shift even a little.
Her face remained stiff, her eyes dull and unreadable, as if she had locked every thought behind an iron door I couldn't open.
In the end, I had no choice but to head toward the place Cassel had pointed at earlier.
To be honest, it was a small shop—smaller than I expected—but surprisingly neat. Every shelf was dusted, every rack carefully arranged.
The apocalyptic world outside felt distant here.
The faint smell of old fabric lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic scent the apocalypse had engraved into everything.
The shop had a modest selection of women's clothing.
Underwear folded into tidy stacks.
A few boxes of the kinds of feminine necessities that felt like luxuries these days.
Cassel… that painfully shy man.
