Bettis's Fish-and-Chips Shop

Bettis rose onto her tiptoes and leaned forward slightly.

The Holy Scripture beneath her feet swayed, and the girl paused at the furthest point of its forward swing to hand over the packed French fries. By the time it swung back, she had already taken the Leos and pushed the uncooked fries into the fryer.

A sweet smile hung on her face, and her voice was sugary and adorable, but her eyes held nothing but coldness.

She had been frying fish here for a year. Her heart had long become as cold as frozen fish.

A fish-and-chips set cost half a Leo, and every day she sold several crates' worth of potatoes and sea fish.

She tossed the Leos in her hand into the cash box beside her. The box was made of metal, specially commissioned from a craftsman.

That was because coins made a pleasant sound when tossed into a metal box. It was the sound of money, and she liked it very much.

As Bettis skillfully turned the fish with her tongs, she glanced at the cash box.

It was half full again.

Once she had saved enough, she would pour all the money from the box out and sit on the floor, sorting it bit by bit.

She had to set aside rent, restocking costs, and Yami and little Gwen's share. Everything left would be hers.

She would wrap the money into bundles with rough paper, tie them with hemp rope, and stack them beside her bed. Leaning against those cold Leos made her heart feel warm.

Bettis instinctively looked back. Her bed was in the back room. The little shelter in the slums had long since been demolished, and she now lived in the shop.

The space beside the bed was empty.

Whenever she saved up