Nico Simonscans had never been one for small things. When he turned a corner in the quiet part of town and found an impossibly narrow shop wedged between a bakery and a locksmith, he did not pass by. The sign above the door read SIMONSCANS — hand-painted letters curling like calligraphy — and beneath it, a smaller placard: NEW ARRIVALS EVERY TUESDAY.
He laughed again, shorter this time. “On loan from whom?”
A small, silver bell chimed from nowhere. A voice, crisp as a new banknote, answered, "It is whatever you haven't dared to be yet, Mr. Simonscans."
