The voice in the back of Neal's head probably should have been louder than the whisper that was in there now. It was there, faint, but it sounded remarkably like Peter telling him to walk away and go home. Still, though, he'd been locked up for nearly two weeks, and there was no Peter there to act as his conscious or the FBI to monitor his movements. Speaking of, how ironic and annoyingly fitting was it that the moment Neal Caffrey stepped back into New York City without an anklet monitor, a version of New York City, that he physically couldn't go outside his radius? Because of course.
He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the person who had approached him. Blinking a couple times, he focused and turned his gaze, complete with a casual smile.
"Oh, I'm fine." He tried to shrug off any worries. "It's the first time I've been outside in a while, and I decided to take a walk around the city. I used to live in the real world version, so I've visited a few of my favorite places when I came across this shop."
A shop full of rare, out of print, first editions, and countless other books that he could walk right in and get his hands on if he wanted. Neal was going to be so screwed if Peter ever showed up here.
"Just stretching my legs," he said, casting another smile.