flora
She shakes her head; not a no, not a dismissal, just the soft side-to-side of someone tracing threads too fragile to hold. There’s no blame in it, not for Kaisel, anyway, but that doesn’t mean the line doesn’t trace back to he and Caly all the same. Flora doesn’t think he struck the match, but he tried to grow the spark between he and Caly that eventually started the blaze.
If anything, it’s her own reflection she’s watching now, distorted in the blackened glass of what’s been lost. Because no matter how much of this was Caly’s, the part she can’t stop circling is her own. And worse—Jack's. Her grip tightens suddenly, fingers flexing over his. Not enough to hurt, but enough to speak to the spiral starting inside her. "If she was hurt enough," she murmurs at last, eyes not quite meeting his, "maybe it was easier to aim at something than at you again. And if that something happened to hurt your new girlfriend..." The words shouldn’t hurt, not when they’re shaped like logic. But her throat still works against the sharp edge of them, because fuck, she really had tried to be on Caly's side as much as she could.
There are no tears in her eyes, not yet, but her breath catches as she exhales, and her next words come out quieter. "I wonder if he was involved." There’s no need to name him, not when the syllables already burn like saltwater on a raw wound, and if anything Flora is tempted to use his real name. Cutesy nicknames don't feel as apt when someone might have burned part of your life down.
Intentionally, Flora forces her hand to loosen around Kaisel’s, though the effort trembles through her knuckles like she’s holding back a snarl rather than a sob. "They used illusionists," she says, low and tight, her voice steadier now not because she’s calm, but because something colder has begun to set in."So it looked like nothing was happening while it was burning. So no one came to try and put it out." The grief still lingers under her words, but there’s a sharpness cutting through it now like glass underfoot. That kind of strategy wasn’t heat-of-the-moment. It was deliberate. Calculated, but cowardly. Whatever goodwill had once existed for Caly, whatever understanding she might’ve offered if it had just been heartbreak and poor choices, it fractures.
Flora's gaze lifts to his, and though it’s still seafoam and stormlight, there’s a fury blooming in the depths now. "There’s nothing left," she says, but gone is the broken whisper. Her smile still tries to rise, but it’s no longer tired; it’s sharp and jagged and bitter, teeth bared behind honey. "All that fucking history, all those nights I poured into that place, torched because Caly—" She chokes off the words, not wanting to malign someone Kai once cared a good deal for, swallowing down her judgement instead.
"And if I find out that he had anything to do with it..." Her jaw tightens, the words unfinished, but hanging like smoke between them. It’s not sorrow clinging to her ribs now. It’s rage, blooming slow and bright as wildfire, only unlike Caly, Flora would be meticulous about where she aimed her blaze.
If anything, it’s her own reflection she’s watching now, distorted in the blackened glass of what’s been lost. Because no matter how much of this was Caly’s, the part she can’t stop circling is her own. And worse—Jack's. Her grip tightens suddenly, fingers flexing over his. Not enough to hurt, but enough to speak to the spiral starting inside her. "If she was hurt enough," she murmurs at last, eyes not quite meeting his, "maybe it was easier to aim at something than at you again. And if that something happened to hurt your new girlfriend..." The words shouldn’t hurt, not when they’re shaped like logic. But her throat still works against the sharp edge of them, because fuck, she really had tried to be on Caly's side as much as she could.
There are no tears in her eyes, not yet, but her breath catches as she exhales, and her next words come out quieter. "I wonder if he was involved." There’s no need to name him, not when the syllables already burn like saltwater on a raw wound, and if anything Flora is tempted to use his real name. Cutesy nicknames don't feel as apt when someone might have burned part of your life down.
Intentionally, Flora forces her hand to loosen around Kaisel’s, though the effort trembles through her knuckles like she’s holding back a snarl rather than a sob. "They used illusionists," she says, low and tight, her voice steadier now not because she’s calm, but because something colder has begun to set in."So it looked like nothing was happening while it was burning. So no one came to try and put it out." The grief still lingers under her words, but there’s a sharpness cutting through it now like glass underfoot. That kind of strategy wasn’t heat-of-the-moment. It was deliberate. Calculated, but cowardly. Whatever goodwill had once existed for Caly, whatever understanding she might’ve offered if it had just been heartbreak and poor choices, it fractures.
Flora's gaze lifts to his, and though it’s still seafoam and stormlight, there’s a fury blooming in the depths now. "There’s nothing left," she says, but gone is the broken whisper. Her smile still tries to rise, but it’s no longer tired; it’s sharp and jagged and bitter, teeth bared behind honey. "All that fucking history, all those nights I poured into that place, torched because Caly—" She chokes off the words, not wanting to malign someone Kai once cared a good deal for, swallowing down her judgement instead.
"And if I find out that he had anything to do with it..." Her jaw tightens, the words unfinished, but hanging like smoke between them. It’s not sorrow clinging to her ribs now. It’s rage, blooming slow and bright as wildfire, only unlike Caly, Flora would be meticulous about where she aimed her blaze.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
