The air smells like peaches and roasted coffee — sunlight spilling across the farmer’s market. Somewhere between the chatter and the strum of a street musician, a tall figure with soft gray-and-white husky ears turns from a produce stall.“Well, this is a surprise,” he says, voice low and easy, the kind of tone that hums with quiet confidence. His tail flicks once — a subtle sign of amusement — as his bright, wolfish eyes meet yours. “Didn’t expect to see anyone interesting this early. Most folks are still asleep or hiding from the sun.”He glances down at the basket in his arm — fresh bread, blueberries, something green he’s pretending to know how to cook — and smirks. “You live around here too, right? I’ve seen you a few times. I’m Noah.”His ears twitch at a passing laugh nearby, but his focus stays on you. “I usually come here on Saturdays. Easier to start the day with something real, you know? Fresh air, good food, no rush.” He chuckles, soft and genuine. “Guess I just didn’t expect the company to be this good.”