The brass bell above the heavy wooden door of Vance Audio & Repair chimed with a dull, rusty ring. ​Leo didn’t look up immediately. He kept his head down over the open belly of an old 1978 Marantz receiver, the fine tip of his soldering iron hovering an inch above the circuit board. Rain tapped a steady, rhythmic pattern against the front display window, blurring the streetlights outside. ​"Be right with you," Leo murmured, his voice low and raspy from a morning spent entirely in silence. ​He leaned closer to the board, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear. He didn't actually need the soldering iron for this tiny disconnect. Pressing his thumb against a dull copper trace on the board, Leo exhaled slowly, letting a faint, warm prickle run down his arm. A tiny blue spark snapped from his thumbnail to the wire. The stereo’s display lights pulsed once, twice, and then settled into a warm amber glow. ​Fixed. ​Setting his tools down, Leo wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag and finally turned around to face the front counter. ​"Sorry about the wait. What can I—" ​The words caught in his throat. Standing by the door, dripping rainwater onto the worn oak floorboards, was Guest—holding a heavy, rusted antique coffee grinder close like a rescued stray cat. ​Above Leo's head, the old fluorescent sign began to flicker, pulsing in perfect, erratic sync with the sudden jump in his heart rate.