& if you never bleed you're never gonna grow
Relief doesn’t hit—it crashes, cresting over Flora like a wave breaking too fast, too high. One blink, and she’s caught in it. The Ark’s crimson sails slice through the storm-heavy sky like a bloody banner, like salvation dressed in salt and smoke and smug inevitability. It doesn’t matter that she’d meant to be alone. It doesn’t matter that she’d come all the way out here to not see him. The second that glint of red cuts through the clouds, Flora’s chest folds open like a sail snapped taut in the wind.
To Jack, it’s all vivid. Blinding, even. A flash of orchid-pink emotion blooming wild in her mind’s garden, the panic-weeds burning away under the sudden sunbeam of him. She doesn’t think it in words. It’s instinct, salt-bright and raw—thank fuck. Her mind stings with wind and cold and the undeniable tug of safety, like fingers laced in hers from across the storm.
"Okay!" she calls back, already moving. Her voice strains against the shriek of the wind, but it carries, sharp with adrenaline. "Spice, hold it steady!" Flora shouts. The little dragon scrambles to perch with wings outstretched, tail coiled tight for balance. The Sugartide groans in protest, her body shivering beneath them, but obeys.
Flora sprints toward the edge, boots slipping once on the frost-slick deck, one hand out as if she could catch Jack from here. Her curls whip into her mouth, tears stinging her eyes from the wind, but her expression is nothing but fierce determination—until the roar. The sound splinters through the storm like a jagged fang. Below, the ice yawns open, a throat full of void and hunger. Her thoughts go quiet—too quiet—for a breathless moment. The flower-strewn mindscape of Flora's thoughts ice over, petals flash-freezing in place. Even her bravado stills under the bone-deep knowledge of what that roar belongs to. "Jack," she says, barely audible now, eyes trained on the water below. Her grip tightens on the railing. "There’s something down there."
To Jack, it’s all vivid. Blinding, even. A flash of orchid-pink emotion blooming wild in her mind’s garden, the panic-weeds burning away under the sudden sunbeam of him. She doesn’t think it in words. It’s instinct, salt-bright and raw—thank fuck. Her mind stings with wind and cold and the undeniable tug of safety, like fingers laced in hers from across the storm.
"Okay!" she calls back, already moving. Her voice strains against the shriek of the wind, but it carries, sharp with adrenaline. "Spice, hold it steady!" Flora shouts. The little dragon scrambles to perch with wings outstretched, tail coiled tight for balance. The Sugartide groans in protest, her body shivering beneath them, but obeys.
Flora sprints toward the edge, boots slipping once on the frost-slick deck, one hand out as if she could catch Jack from here. Her curls whip into her mouth, tears stinging her eyes from the wind, but her expression is nothing but fierce determination—until the roar. The sound splinters through the storm like a jagged fang. Below, the ice yawns open, a throat full of void and hunger. Her thoughts go quiet—too quiet—for a breathless moment. The flower-strewn mindscape of Flora's thoughts ice over, petals flash-freezing in place. Even her bravado stills under the bone-deep knowledge of what that roar belongs to. "Jack," she says, barely audible now, eyes trained on the water below. Her grip tightens on the railing. "There’s something down there."
