"Three days to see a thousand years of history," she mused. "You’re not a tourist; you’re a ghost. You’re drifting through without touching anything."
"The sun?" Elias asked, checking his watch. "The forecast said clear skies." tourist
"It's not coming," she said, her voice raspy. She was wrapped in a wool coat that had seen better decades, holding a thermos. "Three days to see a thousand years of history," she mused
Elias took the key. He walked away from the bridge, leaving the fog-drenched statues behind. He found the shop—a tiny sliver of a building wedged between a bakery and a bookstore. When he turned the key, the smell of oil and old wood hit him. He climbed the narrow spiral stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden shutters. "The forecast said clear skies
He was so busy calculating the walking distance that he didn't notice the woman sitting on the stone ledge until she spoke.