you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora’s thoughts, once golden and soft, slip downward into deeper tides as Jack speaks. The edges of her guilt bloom into something bruised, seeping through the seams of her confidence like seawater through rotted wood. She’d always believed—truly believed—that her compass, her rings, and sheer force of will were enough to keep her safe. She had cloaked herself in the illusion of control like it was armour, and even when surrounded by Caido’s strongest demigods, it hadn’t been enough. Her illusion of safety had been torn apart like silk.
Still, when Jack reaches out to brush her hair back—gentle, almost tender in the quiet dim—Flora leans into it before she can stop herself. The touch lands like a balm and a brand all at once, the kind of small, perfect thing she wants to trap in a jar and keep on her nightstand forever. "Maybe..." she begins, voice quieter than before, "maybe we come up with a plan. Together." It’s a fragile kind of offering—an acknowledgment of her own vulnerability, and a silent vow not to let pride pave the way next time. She glances sidelong at him, lips tugging into something that almost resembles a rueful smile. "I think I’m finally ready to stop pretending I’ve got everything figured out. Just...don't tell anyone."
Her fingers curl slightly in the blankets as she shifts, legs stretching just enough to ease the ache in her back. Jack’s assessment of Ronin’s strategy draws a frown, not of disagreement but of consideration. "You really think she’ll talk?" Flora murmurs, brows furrowing as her gaze drifts toward the illusion above, where imaginary clouds blow across a sun-dappled sky. "That she’d let herself be used like that? I don’t know...I feel like she’d die before giving up anything about them. Not just because she’s loyal, but because she’s petty enough to spite us on the way out." Her nose scrunches faintly as she exhales. "It’d be very on brand."
Still, when Jack reaches out to brush her hair back—gentle, almost tender in the quiet dim—Flora leans into it before she can stop herself. The touch lands like a balm and a brand all at once, the kind of small, perfect thing she wants to trap in a jar and keep on her nightstand forever. "Maybe..." she begins, voice quieter than before, "maybe we come up with a plan. Together." It’s a fragile kind of offering—an acknowledgment of her own vulnerability, and a silent vow not to let pride pave the way next time. She glances sidelong at him, lips tugging into something that almost resembles a rueful smile. "I think I’m finally ready to stop pretending I’ve got everything figured out. Just...don't tell anyone."
Her fingers curl slightly in the blankets as she shifts, legs stretching just enough to ease the ache in her back. Jack’s assessment of Ronin’s strategy draws a frown, not of disagreement but of consideration. "You really think she’ll talk?" Flora murmurs, brows furrowing as her gaze drifts toward the illusion above, where imaginary clouds blow across a sun-dappled sky. "That she’d let herself be used like that? I don’t know...I feel like she’d die before giving up anything about them. Not just because she’s loyal, but because she’s petty enough to spite us on the way out." Her nose scrunches faintly as she exhales. "It’d be very on brand."
