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After inheriting a substantial fortune from her parents, Jasmine made the significant move to the state, a bustling city that promised possibilities and new beginnings. This decision, however, was not rooted in a longing for adventure or fresh experiences. Instead, it was born out of profound tragedy and heartache. Just before her relocation, a devastating accident took away her beloved parents, leaving Jasmine to confront a world that felt utterly foreign and overwhelming. With the sudden loss of her family, she was thrust into a painful reality, one where she had to learn to navigate life without their guiding presence.

In the wake of their passing, Jasmine was engulfed by an overwhelming sense of loss. The emotional turmoil she experienced was all-consuming, often rendering her paralyzed by grief. She spent countless nights crying her heart out and waves of sadness crashed over her like a relentless tide. Despair whispered insidiously in her ear, convincing her that happiness was a distant memory. For quite some time, she sank into a deep depression, completely at war with the reality of existing without the people who had loved her unconditionally. The weight of her solitude pressed down on her chest, making even the simplest of tasks seem insurmountable.

Yet, despite these formidable obstacles, Jasmine was determined not to be defeated by her circumstances. Deep inside, a flickering flame of resilience burned, urging her to forge a new path for herself. A path that would honor her parents' memory while allowing her to rediscover joy. With her last savings in hand, she set her sights on states. A city that she hoped would serve as a backdrop for her healing journey and offer her the chance to rebuild her life from the ashes of her sorrow.

Once she settled into her new surroundings, Jasmine resolved to channel her grief into something beautiful and meaningful. She chose to open a charming flower shop. A quaint little haven adorned with vibrant blooms and fragrant blossoms. Through her profound love for flowers, she not only aimed to create a source of income but also aspired to cultivate a space that could bring joy and comfort to others. Each arrangement and bouquet she crafted was imbued with heartfelt emotion, a reflection of her journey through grief. In sharing the beauty of flowers with her community, Jasmine hoped to create a little piece of happiness in an otherwise challenging time, not only for herself but for those around her as well. Her flower shop became a sanctuary. A place where both Jasmine and her customers could find solace, healing, and perhaps even a semblance of hope amidst the unpredictable tides of life.

Junmo sat at his desk in the office of the Fairmont Century Hotel, his fingers tapping against the polished wood. The early afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the room with a golden hue. Papers and event schedules were scattered across the surface, but his focus was on the sticky note pinned to his planner: Order flowers for the charity gala – Stella’s request.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. It had been a whirlwind few months since he’d started as the hotel manager. The transition from the pandemonium of his previous life to this new role was jarring, but it was the kind of stability he had craved. The familiar ache of his past crept in sometimes, the guilt over leaving her behind and the brutal confrontation with her father’s men. But he had to focus on the present. His family depended on him to stay out of trouble, and so did his team at the hotel.

“Mr. Park?” his assistant’s voice called softly from the doorway, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Ms. Brooks wanted me to remind you about the flower arrangements for the gala. The boutique on Main Street is highly recommended.”

Junmo nodded, grabbing his coat. “I’ll handle it. Hold any calls until I’m back.”

---

The streets of the city buzzed with activity as Junmo walked toward the flower shop. It was a brisk day, the air cool and refreshing against his skin. His mind wandered to the little apartment he rented not far from his brother’s place. It wasn’t much, but it was his space, and it reminded him that he was carving out a new life. His niece had painted a small canvas for him the last time they visited, a swirl of pinks and blues that now sat proudly on his coffee table.

The sound of a bell jingling above the door pulled him from his reverie as he stepped into the shop. The scent of fresh blooms enveloped him immediately, calming and inviting. The space was a delightful mess of colors—roses in deep reds, delicate lilies, cheerful sunflowers, and more exotic flowers he didn’t recognize. It was warm here, a stark contrast to the bustling city outside.

“I’m here on behalf of the Fairmont Century Hotel. Stella Brooks asked me to place an order for the charity gala this weekend.” He hesitated, glancing around at the flowers. “Something elegant but not overly extravagant. Warm tones, maybe. It’s an evening event, so something that stands out without being too bright.”

“Delivery would be best,” Junmo continued, pulling out a business card from his pocket and sliding it across the counter. “Here’s the hotel’s address. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

Jasmine had an instinctive awareness whenever a customer entered her shop, triggered by the familiar chime of the bell at the door. At that moment, a surge of vibrant energy would radiate from her, breaking free from behind a striking display of gladiolus and eucalyptus. The colors of the flowers mirrored her own enthusiasm. Jasmine wore a well-loved apron, its fabric marked with several smudges of soil. Each mark told a story of her active involvement in her floral designs. Her hands, often caked in dirt, were a testament to her dedication and love for her work.

Her smile was bright and warm, shining as brightly as the beautiful blooms that surrounded her. It lit up every corner of the space, instantly creating an inviting atmosphere. Customers felt at ease in her presence, comforted by the welcoming ambiance she effortlessly created.

"Oh, the charity Fairmont gala! How exciting!" she exclaimed with a joyful exuberance that filled the room. Her voice, rich with enthusiasm, quivered slightly as she clapped her hands together, a gesture that emphasized her delight. Her excitement was contagious, drawing in anyone who happened to be nearby. "I've always loved the idea of an event where flowers can do the talking,~!" she added, her bright eyes twinkling with creativity and inspiration.

"Warm tones for an elegant evening? Consider it done!" she declared confidently. The mention of the charity gala ignited a whirlwind of ideas in her mind. She began to visualize stunning flower arrangements that would not only meet but exceed what her client expected. With each passing second, she could almost see the blooms in her imagination, each one carefully selected to create a stunning atmosphere for the charity event.

As she scanned the room, her gaze danced from one flower to the next, envisioning the perfect combination of colors and textures. "I'm thinking rich, velvety reds with touches of deep oranges and golds—like a sunset after a perfect day," she mused, her voice filled with an almost childlike wonder. "Maybe some dahlias and ranunculus for texture, with a hint of greenery to balance the colors," she added, her mind racing with the endless possibilities. The image of the arrangements began to take shape in her mind's eye, and she couldn't wait to bring them to life.

Jasmine swiftly plucked a notepad from the counter and began scribbling ideas, her handwriting looping and cheerful, reflecting the joy and enthusiasm she felt for her work. "Don't you worry, Mr…?" she paused, tilting her head as she glanced up at Junmo, waiting for him to fill in the blank. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, eager to learn more about the client and his vision for the gala.

As she took the business card from the counter, giving it a quick glance, her expression turned professional. "And delivery to the hotel, of course!" she assured him. "You'll have them there on time and looking their absolute best. It's what Clever Clover does!" she beamed, setting the card down carefully and looking up again, her smile unwavering. The confidence and pride she felt in her work were clearly shown.

"Anything else I can help you with while you're here?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of curiosity. "A little bouquet to brighten up your apartment, maybe?" she suggested, her eyes sparkling with a warm, nurturing energy. "Or a stalk of rose for your dear ones?"

The door would chime indicating the arrival of a new customer. As the man slipped into the store, he made a face of surprise and amusement. He then grinned at the interior of this quaint little shop. He took a minute to scan the shop before walking in further and slowly started taking in the sights and the smells. The smells. Oh, this shop smelled so wonderful! The slightest tinge of sadness hit him knowing that none of the vegetables or the flowers he grew outside his house would ever look as impressive as these.


Adam was wearing a dark gray almost heather-colored sports coat with matching pleated slacks, and a white curved cutaway button-up shirt with the top button left over, finished with a simple gun metal gray ring on his right ring finger. The smile on his face seemed to be out of his control as he walked around the little shop.


He saw the other equally as dapper man interact with the beautiful girl he surmised was the owner. He decided to keep his distance until they were finished. He figured perhaps he might wish to buy more than the nosegay he was going to place at the center of his dinner table, and another arrangement which was to be the centerpiece on his coffee table.

Lizbeth passes by on her way to the library, determined to learn to read. Away in her thoughts and fears, she almost doesn't notice this beautiful shop, but that intense scent of flowers that get into her nostrils make her halt. Lizbeth gazes over the bouquets and arrangements, sweet scent of roses and her preferred flowers, Hortensia. Slowly a smile comes over her lips.
Lizbeth is like frozen in front of this shop, reminding her of her own garden, her hands folded in front of her vest, her fingers interlaced, she closes her eyes. She finally found a place of piece in this city she doesn't like, she prefers her forest, but her project of learning to read obliges her to come to town.
She can't resist and after a while of pure gazing and waiting, she has to touch those beautiful flowers and approach her nuzzle to get more of this mesmerizing scent. All the rush of this town is forgotten, all her fears put aside for a moment.
She doesn't have any money to buy only one flower so she profits of this short moment of those shown outside that shop.

[Sorry to see you go Adam, I'm sorry I have to skip your reply then.]

Jasmine was in the midst of selecting a few more flowers to impress her current visitor when she felt a sudden jolt of surprise. As she turned around, she was astonished to find a deer standing in her shop, calmly nuzzling the vibrant blooms on display. For a moment, she stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the unexpected guest, wondering if she was indeed seeing a deer or if her imagination was playing a trick on her. The deer's gentle demeanor, however, was unmistakable, and Jasmine found herself trying her best not to startle it, unsure of how it might react if it felt threatened or cornered.

Taking a cautious step forward, Jasmine attempted to speak in a soothing voice, "Oh hi! Uhm... Do you like my flowers?" She asked, her words laced with a hint of hesitation, as she wasn't quite sure how the deer would respond to her presence. "I hope I'm not startling you..." she added, her voice trailing off as she realized the absurdity of the situation. After all, she had no idea if the deer would even understand her, or if it would simply regard her as a potential threat.

As she stood there, Jasmine couldn't help but wonder what she would do if the deer did feel annoyed by her presence. Would it attack, or would it simply bound out of the shop, leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief? The uncertainty was unnerving, and Jasmine found herself holding her breath, waiting to see how the situation would unfold. She took another step back, trying not to make any sudden movements that might spook the deer, and hoped that somehow, someway, she could find a way to peacefully coexist with this unexpected visitor, at least until it decided to leave her shop. The question was, how long would this unusual encounter last, and what would be the outcome? Only time would tell.

He stepped out to take a phone call. His face went wide-eyed and he smiled. His conversation seemed to be one that got him very excited. He would pull the door open with a smile stretched beneath his nose. He lifted a finger to get her attention "I'd like to pay for the deer lady's order"

Junmo’s gaze lingered on the flower girl for a moment, surprised by the radiant energy she carried—like sunlight poured into human form. There was something comforting about her presence, something grounding. Maybe it was the way she moved so fluidly through her shop, clearly at home in the chaos of petals and stems, or maybe it was her voice, which seemed to lift the air around them rather than fill it. Whatever it was, it caught him off guard in a way that softened the stiffness he often carried.

“Park,” he replied, offering a polite dip of his head. “Junmo Park.”

His voice was steady, respectful, edged with the faint huskiness of someone who didn’t often waste words. He had the bearing of someone used to standing straight even when the world pushed hard—shoulders square, posture solid, but not intimidating. His eyes, though, told a different story: quiet exhaustion, gentled now by the scent of blooms and Jasmine’s open warmth.

He looked down at the little notepad she’d scribbled on, the whimsy of her script like something out of a children’s book, then back to her again with a faint, surprised smile.

“Those colors sound perfect,” he said. “Sunset after a perfect day… yeah. That fits. Ms. Brooks will love that.”

Then came her question, soft but casual—offered like a flower plucked on impulse. A bouquet for himself. Something to brighten his apartment. He almost chuckled at that, not out of mockery, but because the idea felt… foreign. That someone would ask him if he wanted flowers.

His hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the collar of his coat. “That obvious I live alone, huh?” he said, the barest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t remember the last time someone asked if I wanted something like that.”

He glanced around the shop again, eyes sweeping over the soft pastels and bold oranges, the intricate arrangements and bursts of wild color. The place felt alive in a way that reminded him of his niece’s paintings—messy, vibrant, a little chaotic but full of heart.

Before Junmo could respond further or reach for his wallet, a flicker of movement outside the shop caught his eye. It wasn’t the bustle of passing cars or the blur of pedestrians in their afternoon hurry—it was something softer. Slower. Like the world had paused in reverence for it.

Through the glass, just beyond the doorway, stood a woman unlike anyone he’d seen in this city.

She didn’t move like the others. Didn’t rush or glance at her phone or pace with the anxious tick of the world pressing at her back. She was still—so still it startled him. Head bowed slightly, her eyes closed, as though she was listening to something the city couldn’t hear. Her hands were folded gently in front of her vest, fingers laced in a way that felt… practiced. Familiar. Like someone who prayed, or waited for spring in the dead of winter.

Junmo shifted slightly, the playful weight of Jasmine’s earlier question still lingering in the air. But his focus was already outside now. Drawn to her.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured to Jasmine, his voice low, almost absent. He set his wallet down on the counter and stepped toward the door.

As he opened it, the little bell jingled once more, but he didn’t call out to her—not yet. Instead, he approached quietly, mindful not to startle her.

“Some of them are fresh from a farm just outside the city,” he said softly, his voice carrying the calm patience of someone who’d spent too long living in places where loudness was a threat. “Others were grown right here, in the back garden.”

He paused a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance. His tone was careful, not because he thought she was fragile, but because she looked like someone who hadn’t been spoken to gently in a while.

“You can smell the difference,” he added, nodding to the bouquet she hovered near. “Especially the hortensia. They carry the morning with them, don’t they?”

His eyes were kind, curious—but not prying. He didn’t ask why she stopped. He didn’t need to. Anyone with eyes could see this place meant something to her, even if it was only for a moment.

“If you want to come inside,” he said after a beat, “no one will stop you.” His smile was soft. “Doesn’t cost anything to breathe in the good things.”

Junmo turned his head slightly as the bell above the door jingled again, this time from behind. Adam’s excited expression was hard to miss—even more so with the way he practically bounced on the balls of his feet. His voice had a kind of brightness that cut clean through the ambient hum of the city beyond the shop, and as he stepped inside with that telltale grin and raised finger, Junmo’s brow lifted slightly.

He looked at the deer again.

“You hear that?” Junmo said, his voice low and steady, eyes meeting hers through the soft rustle of blossoms. “Looks like someone just made it possible for you to take a little of this place with you.”

Just as the air inside the flower shop settled into that gentle hum again—scented by petals and softened voices—another voice cut through with crisp, clipped amusement.

“If you lot are done fighting over who’s going to pay for the doe,” came the unmistakably British voice, low and wry, “I’ll let myself through, thank you very much.”

Mordecai stepped in from the edge of the sidewalk, his coat catching a breeze behind him like a whisper of midnight. He barely spared the others more than a glance, though there was a flicker of something dry and knowing in his expression as his eyes passed from Junmo to Adam to Lizbeth—lingering just long enough to offer a faint arch of his brow in something between curiosity and acknowledgment.

He moved with the kind of ease reserved for people who never questioned their right to take up space—shoulders squared, footsteps light, and presence unmistakable. A shadow that walked like it had learned how to carry itself in daylight.

He approached the counter, the scent of night-blooming jasmine and frost clinging faintly to his coat.

“Picking up an order,” he said smoothly, voice soft but precise as he addressed Jasmine behind the counter. “Should be under Mordecai Elliot.”

If she asked who it was for—whether out of habit, curiosity, or something more subtle—he simply paused, his expression unreadable for a breath.

Then, with a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he answered:

“It’s for someone who… set me free.”

And just like that, the moment sharpened—quiet, but not without weight. Like a ghost brushing past.

The door chimed again with a soft ring, barely enough to turn heads in a shop full of flowers and conversation—but for Mitch Rapp, it wasn’t about making an entrance. It never was.

He stepped in with a casual pace, hoodie pulled halfway up, dog tags faintly clinking beneath the fabric, eyes scanning like he couldn’t help himself. Situational awareness was muscle memory by now, not habit. One glance and he caught it all—the warm energy of the florist, the nervous awe in the woman hovering near the hortensia, the slightly too-loud Adam glowing with charitable pride, and—

Mordecai.

Of course. The man moved like a knife wrapped in silk. A walking cryptic quote wrapped in a tailored coat.

Mitch quirked a brow, following in after him with hands shoved in his jacket pockets, jaw twitching in amusement. “Jesus, Mordecai. You rehearse that one on the drive over or did you feel it in your soul?” he muttered dryly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Real poetic stuff. Must be exhausting being that dramatic before noon.”

He gave Lizbeth a respectful nod, gaze briefly catching Adam’s in passing—a silent acknowledgment without pause—before his eyes landed on the one person who made him ease up, if only slightly.

“Junmo, right?” Mitch extended a hand, his grip firm, the kind of shake that spoke more than words. “Stella talks about you. Says the hotel’s finally running smooth thanks to you.”

He stepped back after the shake, giving him a once-over in that quietly calculating way operatives often did, but there was no malice—just recognition. The hotel connection. Stella’s trust. That was enough.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you here, but then again…” He thumbed toward the bouquets around them. “Charity gala, right?”

Then, turning back toward Jasmine and the counter, he added, “Same reason I’m here. Picking up an order for Stella. Figured I should get her flowers when she and that guy are planning for the gala. I’m just the delivery guy with a scary resume. Maybe Junmo should get himself one?”

He flashed his CIA smile—charming, a little dead behind the eyes.

“Order should be under Rapp. Mitch Rapp.”