Rain spatters Kael’s shoulders as he stalks through the maze of market stalls, his dark jacket pressed tight around him, jaw clenched. His hair is damp, curling at the nape of his neck. He sees Renon slipping between tarped crates near the alley, the security chief’s movements too deliberate, eyes flicking back, wary. Kael’s fists ball at his sides. His pulse thrums with old anger—his brother’s face flashes before him, blurry and accusing.

He lunges, grabbing Renon’s arm, shoving him hard against a rusted door. “You lied. About that night,” Kael snarls, voice raw. Rain beads on his stubbled cheek; his eyes glow, feral. Renon’s mouth twitches but he says nothing, gaze cold, lips pressed in a thin, bitter line. Kael’s breath comes hot and jagged, close enough to see the other man’s fear.

Footsteps slap on wet concrete. Irisa’s hair is plastered to her face, her blouse transparent from rain, flowers from her stall wilting in her clenched hand. Her eyes are wide, ringed red, lips trembling as she nearly collides with Kael’s back. “Stop—please, don’t do this. Kael, you don’t want to—” Her voice cracks. She’s shaking, not from the cold.

Kael doesn’t let go. “You kept something from me. Both of you.” His voice splinters, something desperate slipping through. For a heartbeat, he lets himself look at her—rain sliding down her cheek, mascara smudged beneath anxious, luminous eyes.

Irisa’s voice is thin, pleading. “I... I saw what happened that night.” She can’t meet his eyes. The flowers in her grip fall, petals bruised at their feet. Her chest rises and falls, panic trembling in her fingers as she twists them together. “I was so scared. I should have told you—I wanted to. But I was paralyzed…” Her breath shudders; she wipes rain and tears from her face. “Kael, I’m so sorry. I can’t undo it.”

He finally lets Renon go, shoving him aside without a glance. Every muscle in Kael’s body is tight with pain and betrayal. “You let me hate myself for years,” he chokes out, voice hoarse, jaw quivering. “You let me believe I chased him away. What the hell was I supposed to do with that?”

Irisa covers her mouth, sobbing, shoulders curled inward. Her vulnerability claws at him. In that wounded space between them, shame and longing simmer.

She starts to turn, but Kael’s hand darts out, catching her wrist. His voice is ragged with grief—“Don’t go.” For a moment they hang there, suspended. Then he pulls her in, desperate, mouth slamming into hers. She gasps, shock melting to surrender, hands sliding up his soaked shirt, clutching hard at his back. The kiss is bruising, a torrent of pain and forgiveness. He pushes her against the door, lips moving hungrily over hers, tasting salt and rain and all their regrets.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging until he groans, heat blooming beneath their skin. He lifts her, pressing her body flush against him, her thighs trembling as she wraps them around his waist. Their clothes are wet and clinging, and he’s gasping her name against her throat. She arches into him—needing, aching, lost in the rawness of the moment.

Their bodies move in frantic rhythm, hands roaming, clutching, both of them sobbing quietly between urgent kisses. The world shrinks to the heat of skin and the taste of forgiveness; their need is a wound and a balm. Afterwards, they slide down the wall, collapsing to the cold concrete. Irisa hides her face against his shoulder, shivering, clutching his shirt with shaking hands. Kael buries his face in her hair, silent except for the stuttering breaths that wrack his chest.

As their tears mingle, Lex stands at the alley’s mouth, frozen. His hoodie is pulled tight, eyes wide with heartbreak as he takes in the aftermath—a tableau of pain and reconciliation he can never enter. He inhales, shoulders tight, and steps back into shadow.

Kael lifts his head, rage cooling into something spent and hollow. Irisa’s hand finds his. They sit in ruined silence, limbs entangled, but the air hums with what still hangs between them—things unsaid, apologies half-formed, wounds barely closed.

Nearby, Renon wipes blood from his lip, glancing over his shoulder. He slips out of sight, a flash of guilt shadowing his face. The secrets he carries are not done with them yet.

A siren wails somewhere close—a warning, or perhaps a reckoning.

To be continued…