you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
The words slip from him almost carelessly, but Flora feels them settle deep, blooming warmth beneath her skin like sunlight pressing through the salt-slicked air. She doesn’t look away as Jack leans back, casual in posture but not in presence—never in presence. Her thoughts, gilded and brimming once more, respond instinctively, spilling gold over the imagined water, scattering light like seashells on wet sand. For all that she keeps her expression tempered, there’s no hiding the way her pulse skips or the delicate flutter of something unspoken in the way she watches him.
I wanted to see you. It loops in her head like a song. It shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but gods it does.
She draws her knees up slightly, careful of the ache in her ribs, and nods as he mentions Pierce. Her gaze softens, lips parting to speak before faltering again. “Being stabbed was…clean by comparison” she murmurs, the corners of her mouth twitching with grim humour, though the words taste bitter even as they leave her. “What she did—” A shiver rides down her spine and she closes her eyes, letting the sentence fall away, unfinished.
When Jack turns toward her with that familiar roguish curl of his mouth, the kind of grin that has always made her feel like she was capable of anything, Flora lets out a low hum of agreement. “If she’s that weak now, I’ll have to go slow with my daggers,” she muses, letting the idea unfurl in her mind like silk ribbon drawn between fingers. “Can’t have it end too quickly.” There’s no fire in her tone, only ice—measured, glinting, dangerous. “She made it last for me,” Flora adds after a moment, voice dipping low, steady and cutting. “It only seems fair.”
But then she looks up again, her gaze sliding back to Jack, her voice softer now, curiosity coiled inside it like a tether. “Do you know what Ronin plans to actually do with her?”
I wanted to see you. It loops in her head like a song. It shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but gods it does.
She draws her knees up slightly, careful of the ache in her ribs, and nods as he mentions Pierce. Her gaze softens, lips parting to speak before faltering again. “Being stabbed was…clean by comparison” she murmurs, the corners of her mouth twitching with grim humour, though the words taste bitter even as they leave her. “What she did—” A shiver rides down her spine and she closes her eyes, letting the sentence fall away, unfinished.
When Jack turns toward her with that familiar roguish curl of his mouth, the kind of grin that has always made her feel like she was capable of anything, Flora lets out a low hum of agreement. “If she’s that weak now, I’ll have to go slow with my daggers,” she muses, letting the idea unfurl in her mind like silk ribbon drawn between fingers. “Can’t have it end too quickly.” There’s no fire in her tone, only ice—measured, glinting, dangerous. “She made it last for me,” Flora adds after a moment, voice dipping low, steady and cutting. “It only seems fair.”
But then she looks up again, her gaze sliding back to Jack, her voice softer now, curiosity coiled inside it like a tether. “Do you know what Ronin plans to actually do with her?”
