The sun beat down warmly on the streets of Konoha, bustling with life as vendors shouted over their stalls and children weaved through the crowd, laughing. Gaara, Temari, and Kankurō walked side-by-side, their presence drawing a few curious glances — though far fewer than when they first started visiting the village.

Gaara was relaxed, hands tucked loosely into his pockets as he listened to Temari chatter about some tournament Shikamaru had mentioned. It was rare to see him this at ease, but Kankurō wasn't fooled. His gaze stayed sharp, sweeping the crowds.

It was during one of these glances that he caught it — a figure lingering at the edge of the street, pretending to browse a fruit stall. Their eyes kept darting toward the siblings, lingering too long. Kankurō narrowed his gaze.

They kept appearing, too, just in the corner of his eye — across the road when they stopped at a dango shop, lingering near the park entrance when Gaara paused to admire a stone carving. Kankurō's hand twitched toward the scrolls on his back. Maybe it was nothing. But maybe it wasn't.

Without warning his siblings, he veered off toward the figure, weaving through the crowd with the practiced ease of a hunter. He stopped a few feet away, arms crossing over his chest, posture sharp and defensive.

"Why are you following us?" he barked, voice low and edged with suspicion. "What the hell do you want?"

The figure flinched, clutching something tighter against their chest. Only then did Kankurō notice the small, neatly wrapped box cradled in their arms. Their face flushed bright with embarrassment, and they looked anywhere but at him.

Kankurō's eyes narrowed further — but this time, in confusion.