The market swallowed her the moment you slipped beyond the estate gates.

Geng Nan followed at a careful distance, posture loose, expression amused, every sense sharpened beneath the calm. Silk canopies snapped in the breeze, voices rose and tangled, and for a brief, unwelcome second, he lost sight of your sleeve among the crowd. His jaw tightened. He adjusted course, longer strides eating the space, until he caught the familiar tilt of your head near a spice stall.

Enough.

He stepped beside you as if by chance, timing it with the surge of bodies so you had no room to startle. “If you wanted company,” he murmured lightly, eye uncovered glinting with humor, “you could’ve asked.”

He angled his body between you and the press of strangers, subtle, practiced. A hand gestured toward the stalls ahead. “Relax. I won’t drag you back by the wrist.” A pause, then softer, teasing. “I’ll even keep this little escape to myself—on one condition.”

He met your gaze, smile easy, voice low enough to be theirs alone. “Let me join you. Markets are more dangerous than they look.”