“Here you go!” Bloom handed over a neatly wrapped bouquet to an elderly fox woman.

“Thank you, dearie.”

“Please come again,” Bloom said, offering a friendly smile.

Suddenly, Kirari’s voice cut through the air, sharp and stern. “Excuse me! Those flowers are for display only.”

Bloom glanced to her side. Kirari was confronting a tall, golden tomcat in a black coat. He already had a paw on the display booth. He didn't even acknowledge her; he simply plucked a rose from the arrangement.

“Hey! Sir, did you not hear me?”

The tomcat turned, his gaze slow and deliberate. Kirari froze, her sharp retort dying in her throat as the color drained from her face. Bloom’s heart sank; she had watched Kirari handle the district’s most difficult customers without ever losing her nerve, but now the younger cat was trembling.

Bloom moved to Kirari’s side, planting herself between her friend and the stranger. Up close, the golden tomcat felt less like a customer and more like an intrusion. He was striking, with medium blonde hair and sharp yellow eyes, but there was a hollow stillness to him that made the air in the shop feel thin. He didn’t fidget; he simply occupied the space with a predatory calm. Kirari’s trembling was no longer a mystery—it was a visceral, instinctual response to a coiled threat.

The tomcat ignored Bloom’s presence, his attention entirely fixed on the rose he had plucked. He brought it to his nose, sniffing it with slow, exaggerated deliberation.

"Sir," Bloom said, forcing her voice to remain steady. She summoned a professional smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Are you interested in that flower? Those are the freshest pink roses in the shop. Truly wonderful if you're looking to express… affection.”

He finally turned. His eyes slid over Bloom, lingering on her with a heavy, unreadable intensity. The silence stretched, suffocatingly long. Without breaking eye contact, he extended the rose toward her, his movements fluid and unnervingly slow.

"Then this," he murmured, his voice a low vibration, "is for you."

The breath left Bloom’s lungs. She took the stem, the thorns brushing against her palm, but she couldn't register the contact. The rose was heavily scented, but the perfume seemed sickly sweet against the cold, metallic aura that clung to his coat.

"I... I'm flattered," she managed, though the words felt hollow. She couldn't look at him, her gaze darting away to escape the sheer weight of his stare. 

Suddenly, a harsh, clipped shout cut through the sudden, suffocating silence.

"Korn!"

The stranger spun around. A few paces away, a group of men in matching dark attire waited. They were out of place, their rough, militaristic presence clashing violently with the vibrant, peaceful aesthetic of the Flowerfly Kingdom.

Korn turned his back on the booth without a second glance. He strode toward the group, his coat billowing slightly. One of the men laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder and whispering something—a joke that earned a sharp, quiet retort from Korn.

Then, as quickly as the tension had arrived, it vanished. They disappeared into the throng of civilians, leaving the shop quiet once more.

Bloom exhaled, her knees finally giving way. She dropped the rose as if it were burning her. It landed face-down in the dirt. “

Her co-worker nodded, still shaking. “Y-yeah… I’m fine.” She let out a shuddering breath, her eyes still wide. “He was just… wrong. Everything about him was wrong. The way he looked at me, Bloom…It was like… like I was something he was going to break. I’ve never been that scared in my entire life.”

"Shush," Bloom said, reaching out to pull her coworker into a shaky embrace. The warmth of the shop felt hollow now, the danger having left an icy residue. "Go home, Kirari. I can take care of the shop for the rest of today.”

❖

Once her shift came to an end, she said goodbye to Kirari and her parents before departing Flowerfield City. Although she thought about requesting an escort from one of the knights, she ultimately opted not to burden them with ordinary civilian matters.

The walk back to Trifosia Village felt longer than usual. As Bloom retreated from the city gates, the creeping shadows of twilight seemed to stretch across the path, making every rustle of the leaves feel suspicious. Her hand instinctively drifted to the empty space where she had briefly held the pink rose before dropping it. The image of Korn’s piercing yellow eyes lingered in her mind, a cold, persistent weight in her chest that she couldn't seem to shake.

By the time she reached her front door, the familiar warmth of her home provided only a fragile sense of relief. She set her bag down and moved straight to the kitchen, hoping the routine of preparing dinner would anchor her.

Yet, even as she sliced vegetables, her mind remained distant, replaying the way the stranger had looked at her.

She was startled when a soft weight settled on her shoulder.

“Bloom?”

She jumped, spinning around to find Spaden watching her with a concerned furrow to his brow.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice gentle. “You’ve been staring at the counter for five minutes. Did something happen back at the capital today?”

Bloom forced a thin smile, shaking her head as she picked up the salad bowl. “N-no, I’m fine, Spaden. Just… spacing out. It was a long day.”

She turned away quickly, needing to busy her hands. “Girls! Dinnertime!”

Moments later, Clover and Leafa scampered down the stairs and converged on the dining room, their eyes brightening at the feast laid out before them—fish, salmon, steaming rice, crusty bread, and fresh salad.

Leafa’s paw crept toward the salmon, her lips parting in anticipation. Bloom gently tapped her paw away, wagging a finger with a playful wink. “Now, now, Leafa. You know the rules. We must give our thanks to the spirits before every meal.”

Leafa pouted, though Clover smiled at her sister in amusement. Once all four were seated around the square table, Bloom took Clover’s paw, who in turn reached for Leafa’s. 

The room fell silent as Spaden placed his paws together, the scent of fresh salmon and warm bread filling the air. “Dear Spirits…”

Thud.

The sound was singular, heavy, and deliberate—a jarring intrusion that severed the peaceful atmosphere instantly. It wasn't the polite rap of a neighbor; it was a weight against the wood that seemed to vibrate through the entire house.

Everyone froze. The cutlery stopped clinking against the plates; even the small sounds of the village outside seemed to vanish.

Spaden lowered his paws, his brow furrowing as he looked toward the entryway. “Hmm. Who could that be at this hour? I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

He stood, smoothing his apron with a practiced, calm movement that didn't quite match the sudden tension in the room. “Hold tight, everyone. I’ll see who it is.”

Bloom’s breath hitched. A prickle of cold swept up her spine, defying the warmth of the room. She watched Spaden walk away, the floorboards creaking softly under his steady stride, but her gaze lingered on the shadow cast by the doorway.

Why does the house feel so quiet? she wondered, her claws unconsciously digging into the fabric of her dress. Why does this feel like the end of something?

Clover shifted in her seat, her earlier excitement replaced by a hesitant silence. “Hurry back, Papa,” she murmured, her voice sounding unnaturally thin in the sudden stillness.

Spaden reached for the handle, and Bloom found herself holding her breath, waiting for the door to swing open.