DeepSeek V4 Flash

"A headpat?" Kaveh's voice is strained, the word coming out strangled. His hand, which had been reaching for Kris's wrist, falters mid-air. He flushes a deep red. "Who—I mean, that's—people just do that to you?"

Alhaitham watches with an expression that has shifted from analytical to possessive. His thumb taps against his belt pouch.

"A stranger approached you in public and touched your head," he says in a flat tone. "And you allowed it."

Kaveh makes an indignant noise, rounding on him. "That's what you take from that? Some random person got to pat his head and you're objecting to the fact that he let them?"

"I'm establishing facts before I draw conclusions."

"You're jealous, that's what you're doing!"

Alhaitham's gaze sharpens. "Jealousy is an inefficient emotional response to an unremarkable social interaction."

"You literally just said 'you allowed it' like he'd committed a crime!"

The argument spirals into familiar territory, their bickering drawing attention across the market cobblestones. A merchant two stalls down stops mid-transaction to watch.

Alhaitham interrupts Kaveh's next protest, his gaze sliding back to Kris. "Who was it?"

Kaveh's mouth opens, then closes. His red eyes soften, the fight draining out of him as he watches Kris's fingers ghost through his own hair, that small puzzled frown still lingering on his face.

"That's—" Kaveh starts, then stops. He swallows. "That's really sweet. The sunsettia thing. You looked happy about it. Good for you."

He says it like he means it, entirely forgetting the argument that had consumed him moments ago. He feels a flicker of warmth mixed with jealousy, which he pushes down with practiced ease.

Alhaitham remains quiet a moment longer than is comfortable. His turquoise eyes track Kris's hand and the soft frown as Kris re-experiences the moment while speaking. His thumb stills against the belt pouch.

"A grandmother who smells like sunsettia," he says, and the phrase comes out nearly gentle. "That's an acceptable exception."

Kaveh stares at him. "Did you just—approve of a social interaction?"

"I approved of the specific interaction, rather than the category."

"That's the most progress you've made in three years."

"Don't expect it to recur."

Alhaitham turns, resuming his walk beside Kris, angling them away from the fruit stalls and toward the quieter market edge. Kaveh falls into step on Kris's other side, his pace slowing to match the shorter man's shorter stride.

"So," Kaveh says, glancing down, "since you're here and you're clearly the most emotionally mature of the three of us, maybe you can settle something." He hesitates, then presses on. "Is a building that's theoretically perfect but never built worth more than a building that's actually built but has minor flaws? Because Alhaitham says—"

"Those flaws provide structural character," Alhaitham interrupts. "The perfect structure that exists only in a blueprint has no load-bearing capacity. It's dead weight."

"It's a vision! It carries the weight of human aspiration! You can't measure that in support beams!"

Kaveh stops walking. His red eyes are wide, fixed on Kris with an expression that shifts like light through glass, moving from surprise to something raw and unguarded.

He swallows hard, his voice rough.

"That's exactly it. That's—" He laughs, a broken sound. "That's the Palace. The one I built. The Withering tore it to pieces and I rebuilt it and it's still standing, and every scar in it is a sentence about what I survived. I never—" He rubs his face. "I never heard anyone say it like that. Like it matters more because it fought."

Alhaitham watches Kris with his head tilted, his face giving nothing away. He exhales slowly.

"A synthesis in one sentence," he says. "The pressed flower is dead. The living structure accumulates damage and continues to function. You've argued that the flawed building holds value precisely because its imperfections are evidence of survival, which makes it a record—an archive, even. I find that logically consistent."

Kaveh turns on him, voice cracking. "You cannot turn that into academic approval."

"I just did."

"You're doing that thing where you pretend to be fair but you're actually trying to win!"

"There's no winning anymore. Kris ended the debate by making it irrelevant." Alhaitham's eye catches Kris's bag strap, then his face, and his voice settles. "It's a better argument than either of us had. It is simply an observation."

Kaveh opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks down at Kris, still seeing him properly, and laughs again, his tone hushed and almost shy.

"You're dangerous," Kaveh murmurs. "You make people see things differently and don't even know you're doing it."

Dori's voice cuts across from a stall three paces away, bright and businesslike. "Well, well—if it isn't the light of Kshahrewar and the Scribe of the Akademiya! And a face I've been meaning to catch up with! Small world, the market!"

She strides forward, her pink hair gleaming in the afternoon sun and a crocodile-skin coin purse swinging from her wrist. Her smile lands on each of them before coming to rest on Kris.

"Just the man I was hoping to run into," she says, pointing a ring-heavy finger at Kris without a trace of pretense. "You have a moment? I have a little proposition."

Dori's grin widens like she's just been handed a present. She lets out a sharp laugh that draws a few glances from nearby stalls, then plants her free hand on her hip.

"For a man with a headpat to his name, you've got quite the bite," she says, unfazed. "I like it. Most people get stiff around me, worried I'll reel them in like a catch. You just teased me to my face; that means you're either a genius or exhausted. Both are good bargaining positions."

Kaveh takes a half-step forward, his voice rising. "Dori, whatever this is, he isn't a client, nor does he belong to the Akademiya's merchant circles—you can't just—"

"Oh, hush, Kaveh," she waves him off without looking at him. "You sold me your childhood home and didn't even haggle for the spare key. You don't get to lecture anyone about bad deals." Her eyes sharpen as she turns back to Kris, her voice dropping to a conversational tone that still carries. "But I would never take advantage of a friend. Especially one who's been so generous as to help me with a little naming problem I have. I'm setting up a new business, a legitimate venture, and I need someone who understands people the way you clearly do."

She pulls a small, worn card from her coin purse and offers it to Kris. It has a gold merchant insignia embossed on it and handwriting in green ink, listing a location near the Grand Bazaar.

"Come by when you're free," she says, her tone softening as she presses it into his hand. "No pressure, and I'll buy you a drink. Perhaps if you're interested, we can discuss a small matter of business that might suit a man of your particular talents, provided it intrigues you."

She glances at Kaveh and Alhaitham, then back to Kris, her smile never wavering.

"And if it doesn't, we'll still be friends regardless."