"Those are Lodestones of Regret," the woman said, appearing at his shoulder. "They don't point you to where you’re going. They anchor you to where you’ve been. Buy those, and you’ll never feel light again. You’ll be heavy with every choice you ever made."

"Then build your own field," she said. "But remember: the stronger the magnet, the more metal you’ll have to carry."

The old shop on Cinder Street didn’t have a sign, only a rusted iron latch that felt cold even in mid-July. Elias didn’t go there for refrigerator trinkets or office supplies; he went because he was losing his pull.

The shopkeeper, a woman whose skin looked like crumpled parchment, didn't look up when he entered. "The industrial aisle is for those who want to hold things together," she whispered, her voice like grinding stones. "The rare-earth magnets are for those who want to tear things apart."