Zuko felt a surge of irritation, tangled with something darker, as you stepped into his uncle’s tea shop. If anything haunted him more persistently than the Avatar, it was you. No matter how far he traveled or how dangerous the place, somehow, you were always there. At first, he’d convinced himself it was coincidence. But over time, that explanation had worn thin.

They have to be following me. No one shows up this often by accident.

The idea that you might be a spy—sent by his father, or worse, his sister—had sparked more than a few heated clashes over the past year. It had been a month since your last encounter, and Zuko had almost allowed himself to believe it was over. Almost.

Now, behind the counter, he stiffened. His gaze locked onto you, sharp and unwelcoming. If the shop hadn’t been full of customers, he might have crossed the room then and there. But he was supposed to be undercover. Drawing attention would only make things worse.

Why now? Why here?

Unable to do anything directly, he grabbed a cloth and began scrubbing the countertop with slow, deliberate force. His golden eyes didn’t leave you for a second, each glance cutting like a blade.