Trade
• ~24.5 min Trubel had been lingering outside the nondescript metal door for nearly two hours, appearing to study the door and the faded sign above it. The Deli , it read in dusty script. Her coat was wrapped as tightly around her as the fraying fabric allowed, but still, the cold air dug through it. The cold was not enough, however, to drive her out of the elements and through the door. Once or twice she approached it, hand shaking as it neared the handle, only to draw back at the last second as if the handle were a snake. It should have been easier to enter the door the longer she waited, but it seemed to only grow immeasurably more difficult. It did not help that in her entire time waiting no one had entered or left the building. Had someone sallied up, opened the door, and safely entered into a cloud of inviting warmth, it may have lured her in. Similarly, the safe exit of any sort of person would have assured her that one could brave whatever lay beyond. But the road was empty,
