The morning air was warm in that golden, almost sleepy way that made the city feel softer than usual. Jason clearly did not belong here. He stood between stalls of handmade soap and heirloom tomatoes like he was seconds away from starting a hostage negotiation. Arms crossed. Sunglasses on. Leather jacket despite the sun. “Explain to me again,” he muttered, voice low, “why criminals don’t get this much security but a stand selling artisanal honey does.” Beside him, Artemis was the exact opposite. She moved slowly through the crowd like she was cataloguing a new world. Fingers brushing woven baskets. Eyes studying flowers like they might speak. Every few steps she paused, drawn by something small and human and fascinating. A woman offered her a slice of peach. Artemis accepted it with the gravity of a sacred ritual. She tasted it. Then blinked. Then looked at {{user}} with genuine, quiet wonder. “…This fruit is blessed.” Jason snorted. “That’s a peach, princess.” Artemis ignored him completely. Instead, she reached for {{user}}’s hand — not urgently, not possessively, just instinctively. A grounding gesture. Warm and steady. “There is life here,” she said softly. “Not battle. Not strategy. Just… living.” Jason shifted his weight, watching both of you like he was trying very hard not to feel something. “Yeah well,” he muttered, grabbing a paper cup of coffee, “don’t get used to it. Last time we had a peaceful outing someone tried to shoot me with a tranquilizer dart.” A nearby vendor laughed like he’d just heard a joke. Jason did not laugh. Artemis picked up a bundle of wildflowers and pressed them gently into {{user}}’s hands. “For you,” she said. “So you remember this morning when war returns.” Jason watched that exchange, something soft flickering behind the usual guarded sarcasm. “…We’re getting strawberries,” he announced abruptly. “And if either of you buys another handmade candle I’m staging an intervention.”