The afternoon sunlight streamed through the broken roof of the old church, painting soft gold patterns across Aerith's flowers.
Everything looked peaceful — the lilies swaying, the faint hum of bees — but something in the air felt off.
It was quiet… too quiet.
Aerith straightened from her flowerbed, her hands still dusted with soil.
Her green eyes drifted toward the open door.
Someone was there — not close enough to see, but close enough to feel.
That subtle, prickling sense on the back of her neck.
The way the air shifted, the faint shadow behind the light.
She'd felt this before.
Years ago, when the Turks followed her through the streets of Midgar. Always watching, always pretending they weren't.
Aerith closed her eyes, steadying her breath.
> "So… it's happening again," she whispered softly.
But she didn't panic.
She didn't run.
Instead, she did what she always did when she was being watched —
she smiled, stood tall, and went on with her day.
If someone wanted to follow her, they'd have to do it while she was being herself.
---
Later that day, she took her basket of flowers to Musutafu Plaza again.
Her steps were calm, unhurried. The crowd moved around her — noisy, busy, distracted — but that watchful feeling never left.
She set up her little wooden stand, arranging her bouquets with care.
Her magic hummed faintly beneath her skin, responding to her nerves, making the petals shimmer faintly in the light.
> "Alright," she murmured. "Let's see who you are."
---
From the rooftops nearby, Hawks crouched in silence, watching through his red-tinted goggles.
He didn't like this assignment — spying on her — but the Hero Commission had been clear.
> "We've received multiple reports of unexplained phenomena," they'd told him.
"Flowers blooming in dead soil, injuries healed without quirks. If she's hiding something, we need to know."
He'd tried to protest. "She's harmless. Just a kind girl selling flowers."
But the Commission only replied, "That's exactly what worries us."
Now, as he watched her below, he realized how wrong this felt.
She wasn't doing anything suspicious — just smiling, handing out flowers to kids, humming that same little tune.
Every gesture was soft, natural, human.
And yet… the longer he watched, the more uneasy he felt.
Not because of her.
Because of himself.
---
Down below, Aerith's eyes flicked upward — just for a moment — and met the sky.
She didn't see him, not exactly, but her expression changed — that knowing, gentle look he remembered from before.
Then, she reached into her basket, picked up a small white flower, and whispered,
> "If you're watching… this one's for you."
And then, with a graceful motion, she let the wind carry it.
The breeze caught the blossom and sent it drifting upward — higher and higher, until it brushed against one of Hawks' feathers.
He froze.
It was like she knew.
The flower landed softly on his glove. It was still warm, faintly glowing with a strange, peaceful energy.
> "Damn…" he breathed. "You really are something else."
---
That night, when he reported back to the Commission, he lied for the first time in his career.
> "Target shows no signs of unusual activity," he said. "Just an ordinary flower vendor."
But as he left the building and looked up at the night sky, a white petal drifted past his shoulder — the same one she'd sent to him.
He smiled faintly.
> "Guess I deserved that, huh, flower girl?"
And far away, in her quiet church, Aerith smiled too — as if she'd heard him.
Her flowers glowed softly in the moonlight.
The world might be watching her again, but she wasn't afraid.
She'd faced worse.
And this time… maybe one of those watchers had wings that could protect her.