and all that we intend is scrawled in sand
As Koa settles beside her, Flora casts a glance over her shoulder, the golden sweep of her hair catching in a sunbeam as her laughter spills soft and musical into the quiet glade. "Gods, no," she breathes, nudging her shoulder against his in playful rebuke. "I promise there’s no secret baby. Can you imagine?" Her nose crinkles, but the lightness in her tone is brittle, like a sugar shell with nothing but ache inside. "Actually, please don't."
The guilt creeps in before she even speaks—cold, winding, coiling beneath her ribs. Jack’s secret isn’t hers to share. She promised she never would, in fact. And even now, it feels like a betrayal to say it aloud, like carving something private out of the air and handing it over to someone who won’t understand what it cost her to keep it this long. But gods, what else is she supposed to do? With Ludo’s potion, and what it might mean for Koa and Sohalia...not to mention the fact Jack had left her and she'd always threatened him that there'd be consequences if he did? It doesn't make it right, but gods it makes it a little easier.
"Jack…" she begins, then pauses. Her voice feels thin, too delicate for what she’s about to say. She meets Koa’s copper stare and forces the words through anyway, each one like glass dragged over her tongue. "Jack is a telepath." The words drop like stones into still water, rippling out with all the weight they carry, and she hates the silence that follows, so she rushes on, words tumbling out too fast, too full: "He can hear your every thought..knows what you're feeling...can see things you aren't even aware of."
Her fingers twitch in the clover, brushing the leaves as if they might ground her. "It’s...impossible to describe, what that’s like, being with someone who can do that. To be seen that fully, that constantly. Every flicker of doubt. Every want. Every thought that never even forms into a full sentence—he already has it. Knows what you’re feeling before you do. And he can give you what you want before you even ask for it."
She looks down, blinking rapidly as tears prick the corners of her eyes. Her breath shakes once, the only warning before she turns toward him again, urgency blooming behind her expression. "The reason we never were," she whispers, "gods, Koa, it was never you."
She reaches for his hand then, tentatively, fingertips brushing against his like petals searching for sun. "You were up against someone who already knew everything I needed," she says, voice low, a tremor riding beneath it. "Every fear I couldn’t name. Every want I couldn’t say out loud and didn't even know existed. He gave it to me before I even asked." Her breath hitches, catching on the words like thorns. "And gods, Koa, it was still nearly you anyway." Her gaze flicks up to his, something tender and aching flickering behind her lashes. "I still—" The sentence curls inward, collapsing beneath the weight of everything it means. "I still fell for you."
A sad smile ghosts across her mouth, too fragile to stay long. It’s not wry this time, but grieving. "You didn’t lose me because you weren’t enough," she whispers, each word pulled from a place in her chest that still bruises when she breathes. "You were perfect. You were everything." Her throat tightens, and though she’s never wanted to measure them against each other—Koa and Jack, heart and shadow—there’s a bitter clarity in the aftermath. Because whatever else might’ve gone wrong between her and the dragoon in the end, she knows Koa would never have left her the way Jack did. And gods, that makes this all hurt so much more to lay out. "There was just no way to compete with someone who lived inside my head."
The words are quieter than breath, and they feel like a betrayal even now—not of Koa, but of everything that came after. Of the choice she made. Of picking the one who read every thought, knew her better than she knew herself, and still let her go.
She turns toward Koa fully then, desperation bright in her seafoam stare. "It’s all I’ve been wanting to say since that day," she murmurs, the weight of it finally cresting over her voice, causing it to tremble and waver. "Just for a minute—just for this hour—I needed you to know. It wasn’t your fault. It never was."
The guilt creeps in before she even speaks—cold, winding, coiling beneath her ribs. Jack’s secret isn’t hers to share. She promised she never would, in fact. And even now, it feels like a betrayal to say it aloud, like carving something private out of the air and handing it over to someone who won’t understand what it cost her to keep it this long. But gods, what else is she supposed to do? With Ludo’s potion, and what it might mean for Koa and Sohalia...not to mention the fact Jack had left her and she'd always threatened him that there'd be consequences if he did? It doesn't make it right, but gods it makes it a little easier.
"Jack…" she begins, then pauses. Her voice feels thin, too delicate for what she’s about to say. She meets Koa’s copper stare and forces the words through anyway, each one like glass dragged over her tongue. "Jack is a telepath." The words drop like stones into still water, rippling out with all the weight they carry, and she hates the silence that follows, so she rushes on, words tumbling out too fast, too full: "He can hear your every thought..knows what you're feeling...can see things you aren't even aware of."
Her fingers twitch in the clover, brushing the leaves as if they might ground her. "It’s...impossible to describe, what that’s like, being with someone who can do that. To be seen that fully, that constantly. Every flicker of doubt. Every want. Every thought that never even forms into a full sentence—he already has it. Knows what you’re feeling before you do. And he can give you what you want before you even ask for it."
She looks down, blinking rapidly as tears prick the corners of her eyes. Her breath shakes once, the only warning before she turns toward him again, urgency blooming behind her expression. "The reason we never were," she whispers, "gods, Koa, it was never you."
She reaches for his hand then, tentatively, fingertips brushing against his like petals searching for sun. "You were up against someone who already knew everything I needed," she says, voice low, a tremor riding beneath it. "Every fear I couldn’t name. Every want I couldn’t say out loud and didn't even know existed. He gave it to me before I even asked." Her breath hitches, catching on the words like thorns. "And gods, Koa, it was still nearly you anyway." Her gaze flicks up to his, something tender and aching flickering behind her lashes. "I still—" The sentence curls inward, collapsing beneath the weight of everything it means. "I still fell for you."
A sad smile ghosts across her mouth, too fragile to stay long. It’s not wry this time, but grieving. "You didn’t lose me because you weren’t enough," she whispers, each word pulled from a place in her chest that still bruises when she breathes. "You were perfect. You were everything." Her throat tightens, and though she’s never wanted to measure them against each other—Koa and Jack, heart and shadow—there’s a bitter clarity in the aftermath. Because whatever else might’ve gone wrong between her and the dragoon in the end, she knows Koa would never have left her the way Jack did. And gods, that makes this all hurt so much more to lay out. "There was just no way to compete with someone who lived inside my head."
The words are quieter than breath, and they feel like a betrayal even now—not of Koa, but of everything that came after. Of the choice she made. Of picking the one who read every thought, knew her better than she knew herself, and still let her go.
She turns toward Koa fully then, desperation bright in her seafoam stare. "It’s all I’ve been wanting to say since that day," she murmurs, the weight of it finally cresting over her voice, causing it to tremble and waver. "Just for a minute—just for this hour—I needed you to know. It wasn’t your fault. It never was."
