Neko spotted the empty storefront at the edge of the forest road. The windows were dusty but whole. The door hung crooked on its hinges. She pressed her face to the glass and saw space — real space — enough for chairs, for her drawing table, for clients who needed protective ink and wouldn't get turned away. But when she pushed the door open, she found a wooden planter box against the far wall. Herbs grew thick under hanging lanterns that cast green light across the floor. Runes glowed on the box's sides, symbols she recognized from her sketchbooks. Someone had settled here first, made it home. Neko stood in the doorway with her bag of beads and her half-finished dream, watching the lanterns sway. The space she'd found was already claimed. She stepped further inside. A fireplace dominated the back wall, carved with scrollwork and flanked by velvet chairs worn soft with use. Wood sat stacked beside it. A blanket draped over one chair arm. This wasn't storage or squatting — someone lived here, tended the herbs, lit fires against the cold. Neko traced her fingers along the doorframe and walked back outside. The studio she needed was still out there somewhere, but it wasn't here. But before she left the property, she pulled a small beaded charm from her pocket. Black and silver beads twisted into a protective knot, one she'd made last week and carried without purpose until now. She hung it from a nail beside the door where the owner would see it. Not a claim, not a challenge — just a marker that she'd been here, that she'd seen what they'd built. She turned back toward the forest road, her sketchbook pressing against her ribs, and kept walking.