The Marleyean sun was warm but forgiving, and the flower garden in the heart of the city bloomed with colors so vivid they nearly didn’t seem real. Jean Kirstein adjusted his hat slightly, the brim casting a shadow just above his brow, as he glanced sideways at the girl beside him. She laughed softly, looping her arm through his with the casual grace of someone who had done it a hundred times. To the outside world, they were just another couple enjoying the late afternoon — tourists or locals, it didn’t matter. Here, in this fragile moment of make-believe, they were safe.

“I still can’t believe this is what passes for a date here,” Jean muttered under his breath, watching a child dart past with blue sugar smeared all over his cheeks. “Cotton candy. Flowers. It’s like a fairy tale.”

“You mean a sugar trap,” the girl replied with a smirk, holding up the pastel pink swirl of spun sugar on a stick. “You’re telling me people just eat this? For fun?”

Jean looked around before he leaned closer. “We should try it. Blend in, right?”

She raised an eyebrow, then broke a piece off and hesitantly placed it on her tongue. The way her eyes widened for half a second made Jean chuckle. He did the same, and immediately had to fight every instinct not to react the same way.

“It’s… weirdly good,” she said, voice low and stunned.

“We can never let the others know,” he grinned.

Their eyes met, a shared joke hanging between them, and for just a breath of time, the mission, the tension, and the war slipped away like petals in the wind. They walked on through the garden, cotton candy slowly shrinking between them, every movement and smile rehearsed but carrying traces of something genuine. It was dangerous, Jean knew — not the mission, but the way her laughter was starting to feel like home.

He adjusted his grip on her hand, squeezed it gently, and whispered, “We’re almost at the drop point. One more block.”

She nodded, but didn’t let go. And neither did he.