you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora recoils visibly as Jack’s anger washes over her, the harsh edge of his words carving deeper with each breath, deeper than any dagger ever could. The pain is etched across her face, her thoughts scattering like petals tossed carelessly onto storm-churned waves. The chaos is loud in her mind—an ocean heaving, pulling at roots she’d thought were anchored deeply enough to withstand even his harshest storms.
But she gathers herself, holding onto the last ragged pieces of her composure, forcing herself to look at him directly. "And what, your plan to stand against the Family without the backing of Ronin didn't come with the possibility of death?" Her voice trembles. "Yes, Jack, dying hurts—I know exactly how much it hurts—but it's still better than living under the Family’s heel. You were the one who said it was better than being a puppet in their fucked-up game."
Her hands tighten into fists, then relax helplessly, fingers reaching out as though she wants to pull him back even now, despite the accusations, despite the chasm between them. "I didn’t tell you because I was trying to keep you safe." Her voice softens, cracks beneath the strain of honesty, and though she's sure he'll scoff at that given everything he's said so far, gods, she really did think she was doing it the best way.
Flora's gaze searches his face desperately, her voice hitching with quiet panic when he speaks of needing space and time. Her thoughts scatter again, grasping at fragile blooms ripped loose by the tide, drifting far out of her reach. Something in her finally crumples then, shoulders sagging, head dropping briefly as she draws in a shaking breath. When she looks back up, her eyes are bright with unshed tears, her voice reduced to a raw whisper. "I don't want you to go."
But she gathers herself, holding onto the last ragged pieces of her composure, forcing herself to look at him directly. "And what, your plan to stand against the Family without the backing of Ronin didn't come with the possibility of death?" Her voice trembles. "Yes, Jack, dying hurts—I know exactly how much it hurts—but it's still better than living under the Family’s heel. You were the one who said it was better than being a puppet in their fucked-up game."
Her hands tighten into fists, then relax helplessly, fingers reaching out as though she wants to pull him back even now, despite the accusations, despite the chasm between them. "I didn’t tell you because I was trying to keep you safe." Her voice softens, cracks beneath the strain of honesty, and though she's sure he'll scoff at that given everything he's said so far, gods, she really did think she was doing it the best way.
Flora's gaze searches his face desperately, her voice hitching with quiet panic when he speaks of needing space and time. Her thoughts scatter again, grasping at fragile blooms ripped loose by the tide, drifting far out of her reach. Something in her finally crumples then, shoulders sagging, head dropping briefly as she draws in a shaking breath. When she looks back up, her eyes are bright with unshed tears, her voice reduced to a raw whisper. "I don't want you to go."
