Kael’s shirt clings to his chest, streaked with dust from carting crates since dawn. Stray curls hang damp over his forehead as he weaves through the midday crush, jaw set, shoulders braced for a fight. His stare is sharp, hunting for Irisa with a need that feels dangerous in his throat. When he spots her, she’s bent over her flower buckets in a navy sundress, sunlight threading gold through her tangled hair. She’s laughing too loudly at something Talie says, fingers fidgeting with a ribbon, but the glance she shoots Kael is wary and electric.

Irisa straightens, arms crossed, posture crisp, but her eyes flicker with uncertainty as Kael approaches. His boots scuff the ground in warning, and Talie, clutching a heap of bruised apples, sees the storm coming and edges away, mumbling about beets. The air tightens with things unsaid.

“You’re early,” she says, chin tilted. Her lips are painted a reckless berry red, but there’s a small cut on her knuckle she keeps worrying with her thumb.

Kael’s gaze drops, softening for half a second. “Can you blame me? The vultures are circling.” His brows knit as a couple gossipy vendors breeze past, voices just loud enough: “She’s got him on a leash, you see that?”

Irisa flinches, then recovers. “Let them talk.” But her hands won’t still, clutching the stems so tight a rosehead snaps between her fingers.

For a flicker, Kael looks like he’ll apologize—then shoves the moment aside, voice rough. “What did they say to you after—?” He stops, the word “brother” hanging unspoken. His whole body pulses with longing and resentment.

She lowers her gaze, lashes trembling. “Nothing important.” Her breath is shallow; she holds it in, afraid to let truth slip.

Myka darts over, caffeinated and wide-eyed, clutching two lattes and wearing a grin too big. “You two look cozy,” she chirps, eyes darting between them. “Should I book the honeymoon suite, or…?”

Kael scowls. Irisa rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush—rosy and raw. Myka lingers, but soon skips off, leaving a wake of speculation and the faintest note of comfort: their chemistry is real enough to be noticed.

Later, a stranger—tall, face shadowed by a battered cap—stops Kael near the alley’s mouth. “You his twin?” the man murmurs, voice low. Kael stiffens, every muscle coiling. “What do you know about my brother?” he grinds out, fists curled.

Irisa, watching from her stall, drops her bouquet. She hurries over, pressing a shaky palm to Kael’s arm. Her touch is featherlight, barely there, but it’s enough—he shudders, turning toward her, rage flickering to fear.

“Easy,” she whispers, voice raw. Her hand lingers on his sleeve, thumb tracing a single trembling circle. For a beat he lets himself lean into her—a silent plea—before he remembers himself, jaw clamping.

Somewhere behind, Talie tries to juggle pumpkins and gossip, but the mood is cracked open: Kael’s voice is gone, replaced by the quiet plea in his eyes.

Night falls and rain slicks the ground. Inside the dim glow of the back room, Lex is helping Irisa pack a late flower order. He wears his old flannel, sleeves rolled, hands gentle as he slides boxes into shape. His smile falters when her hand brushes his, but his eyes linger, wide and bright. The storm outside drums a frantic rhythm; their words hush to whispers.

Irisa tucks hair behind her ear, lips parted. She pauses, glances up at him. Lex’s heart hammers. “You’re always here,” she says, voice thin, “when everyone else leaves.” His cheeks flush, his shoulders tense — hope flaring so hard it almost hurts.

He swallows, mouth dry. “I want you to be okay.” His fingers graze hers, knuckles brushing. “You deserve—” He doesn’t finish; can’t.

She wavers, her face open and hunted. For an instant, she leans in—her breath is warm, her eyes wet. Lex tilts forward, just a heartbeat from her lips—

She jerks back, pulse skittering, apology flooding her face. “I’m sorry, Lex. I just…can’t.” Her voice cracks, torn between wishes and wounds.

Lex nods, drawing a steadying breath, schooling his face to kindness. But the ache in his eyes is unmissable.

As Irisa slips outside, rain pinning her hair to her cheeks, Kael watches from beneath the awning, shadowed, eyes feral with longing and confusion. Inside, Lex stares after her, clutching a loose carnation, jaw clenched in silent heartbreak.

Across the market, Myka lingers by the security monitor, eyes wide as footage flickers. A blurred image: Irisa, night of the disappearance, standing frozen in the alley’s washed-out glow. Myka’s breath catches—fear and revelation tangling in her chest.

To be continued...