Chapter 159

Elara’s POV

At register three, the clockwork dial above the exit doors read exactly 8:47 PM.

I was still here, exactly thirteen minutes past my continuous eight-hour shift. But Mia was somewhere across town with “Tuesday Derek,” leaving me to cover for her absence. Register two sat dark and empty, and the chaotic line at my register snaked back past the bread aisle like a living, breathing accusation.

My feet had stopped hurting a while ago. Not because they felt better, but because they had gone completely numb.

I scanned a tin of preserved vegetables. Beeped it through. Dropped it in the bag. Reached for the next item. My hands moved on their own now, mechanical and efficient, disconnected from the rest of my aching body. Behind my pleasant, fixed customer-service smile, my mind was already at home. I was already dreading my upcoming dinner—boiling water for cheap instant noodles. The kind that came in paper packets with a little seasoning pouch that tasted vaguely of salt and deep regret.

I was physically drained and financially strapped, and the sheer sadness of it weighed on me. But I tried not to think about it.

“Next, please,” I called out, striving to maintain my professional composure.

The boy who stepped forward was eighteen years old. He had the gangly, unfinished look of someone still growing into his own limbs, and he looked entirely flustered. He placed two items on the counter with trembling hands.

One energy potion. One candy bar.

I scanned them both. “Twelve gold, 67 copper.”

He nodded too fast. Panicked, he reached into his pocket and fumbled, attempting to pay for the 12 gold 67 copper purchase with a single gold coin. He stared at it, his face flushing deep red in blotches that climbed up his neck.

“I—sorry. Hold on.” He patted his other pocket, then his back pockets, digging frantically for the rest of his money.

“Take your time,” I said gently.

“You gonna take all night, kid?” a voice boomed from behind him.

The boy flinched.

The man waiting behind him was an imposing six foot three inches. Enormous. Not just tall—broad. He wore stained work clothes covered in grease, and everything about him radiated an aggressive, deeply intimidating sense of entitlement.

The teenager’s hands fumbled further, and a few copper coins scattered on the counter.

I looked right past the boy to the massive man, gently defending the nervous teenager. “He’s almost done. Just another moment.”

I helped the frantic boy gather his coins, counting them out quickly. “That’s it. You’re all set,” I told him kindly. He took his bag, whispering a breathless thank you before rushing toward the exit.

Next was an apologetic working mother. She stepped up, placing her items on the belt with tired, careful movements.

“I am so sorry for the wait,” she murmured politely.

“It’s no trouble at all,” I replied, my compassion aching for her as I recognized the familiar exhaustion in her eyes. I scanned her milk, bread, and baby food. “That comes to 21 gold and 48 copper.”

She paid quickly, offering a grateful smile before leaving. My brief moment of pleasant interaction vanished as the big man finally stepped forward.

He didn’t place his items on the counter. He shoved them. A six-pack of cheap ale, a pack of cigarettes, a lottery ticket, and beef jerky.

I scanned each item, keeping my demeanor carefully neutral. “Thirty-six gold, 87 copper.”

He didn’t reach for a coin purse. He just stood there, glaring at me with open hostility.

“You’ve got three registers in this place,” he snarled, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “Three registers, and I’ve been standing in this line for twenty to twenty-five minutes. For this?”

“I’m sorry for the wait, sir,” I kept my voice steady, though a knot of unease began to form in my stomach.

He scoffed loudly. “Every time I come in here, it’s the same thing. Watching some kid count his coppers while I waste my time.”

“Will that be coin or crystal, sir?”

He unclipped a payment crystal from his belt and threw it directly at my chest.

It struck me hard before clattering onto the counter. I caught it before it could roll off the edge. I said nothing, though the psychological dynamic in the air was rapidly shifting from my exhausted patience to a very real sense of physical fear. My vulnerability in this low-wage job had never felt more glaring.

I pressed his crystal to the register pad. The rune flickered and turned red.

Transaction denied.

“It’s not going through,” I said carefully.

“Try again? What do you mean? There’s plenty on there.”

I pressed it again. The rune pulsed once. Twice. Red again.

I knew exactly what that meant—either he had insufficient funds or there was an error with the magic bank. But looking at his hostile expression, I knew he would refuse to accept that reality. He was determined to blame me and the machine.

“Sir, the crystal’s been declined again,” I said softly.

“There is nothing wrong with my crystal!” he exploded, his voice booming through the quiet store. His financial embarrassment was rapidly fueling an out-of-control rage. “Run it again!”

“I’ve run it twice, sir—”

“Then your register is a piece of trash!” He slammed both palms flat on the counter. “This is what happens when you put you people behind the counter. Can’t even work a simple machine.”

The verbal abuse hung in the air, sharp and uncalled for. He leaned over the counter, closing the distance between us. He was terrifyingly large, and the situation was becoming wildly unstable. I realized with a spike of dread that I might actually need the manager or security to intervene.

“Sir, please—”

He didn’t listen. His massive hand reached across the counter and clamped down on the store’s embedded checkout crystal.

“Don’t—!” I gasped, shrinking back.

With a violent yank, he ripped the checkout crystal right off the counter. The mounting bracket snapped, and screws popped free like bullets.

The checkout crystal flew off the counter and smashed onto the tile floor. Magic shards scattered across the ground, and the furious man roared at the broken machine.