with each love i cut loose i was never the same
Flora lifts her hand with slow, deliberate ease, and the dagger buried in the tree beside Liam shudders once before sliding free and zipping cleanly back into her palm. Her fingers close around the hilt like a habit she’s never had to break, and her eyes remain fixed on him—still narrowed, still wary, even as her stance relaxes by degrees.
"You’re infected, Liam," she says flatly, no edge of mockery this time—just the steady weight of a truth too close for comfort. "And just because the Family’s gone doesn’t mean you weren’t given some parting gift. A little nudge. A whisper. Something nasty planted that hasn't bloomed yet."
She shifts the dagger back to her belt, but doesn’t take her eyes off him. "I’ve died once already, and I’m not in the habit of repeating lessons I’ve already learned." The curl of her lip is faint—not quite a snarl, but close enough to pass for one in the filtered leaflight. "So no, I’m not assuming you’re a threat. I’m assuming you could be. There’s a difference."
"You’re infected, Liam," she says flatly, no edge of mockery this time—just the steady weight of a truth too close for comfort. "And just because the Family’s gone doesn’t mean you weren’t given some parting gift. A little nudge. A whisper. Something nasty planted that hasn't bloomed yet."
She shifts the dagger back to her belt, but doesn’t take her eyes off him. "I’ve died once already, and I’m not in the habit of repeating lessons I’ve already learned." The curl of her lip is faint—not quite a snarl, but close enough to pass for one in the filtered leaflight. "So no, I’m not assuming you’re a threat. I’m assuming you could be. There’s a difference."
