flora
The scent of fish guts and sea brine is sharp enough to sting, and the noise is pure Haulani chaos; vendors shouting, crates creaking, someone loudly lamenting their ruined merchandise like it’s a national tragedy. Flora darts around a toppled barrel of red-slick snapper, catching sight of the tall, dark outline she’d clocked just before: Damien, unmistakably. Broad-shouldered and storm-eyed, looking about two seconds from tackling the next person who looked at him funny.
She slips into the trailing shadow he casts like it’s instinct, the hem of her sweater catching wind as she angles to close the distance. It’s Deepfrost, but Torchline’s version of winter is more dramatic in colour than in temperature, so she’s dressed in wide-legged linen pants and a chunky ivory sweater that slouches off one shoulder, her gold jewellery glinting with every movement, like a constellation trying to keep pace with her.
When he turns and her name breaks across his expression, she raises her brows in return, breath quick but posture still entirely relaxed, like she hasn’t just jogged half the damn market to catch up with him. "No, sorry," she replies, shaking her head as she straightens. "I saw a blur and heard your voice." And that was enough.
Tucking a curl behind her ear, she peers down the alleyway Damien had been about to storm through, expression sharpening with the kind of alertness usually reserved for late-night bar fights and poorly judged dares. Aria, was it? Flora doesn’t know exactly who it belongs to, but her brain starts drawing lines anyway. Daughter? Niece? Some poor soul caught under that gruff, bear-pawed protection she’s starting to suspect hides a gold-foil centre?
Her brows lift as she glances back at him, lips parting just slightly as if she might ask, but instead, she lifts her fingers and whistles sharply, two short notes slicing through the noise like a blade. Overhead, Spice wheels down from the clouds with her usual dramatic flourish, white wings glinting like spilled starlight. Flora doesn’t bother hiding the way she grins at the sight, or the quick flick of satisfaction in her gaze before she turns it squarely back on Damien.
"If you give Spice a description, she'll be able to look from above."
She slips into the trailing shadow he casts like it’s instinct, the hem of her sweater catching wind as she angles to close the distance. It’s Deepfrost, but Torchline’s version of winter is more dramatic in colour than in temperature, so she’s dressed in wide-legged linen pants and a chunky ivory sweater that slouches off one shoulder, her gold jewellery glinting with every movement, like a constellation trying to keep pace with her.
When he turns and her name breaks across his expression, she raises her brows in return, breath quick but posture still entirely relaxed, like she hasn’t just jogged half the damn market to catch up with him. "No, sorry," she replies, shaking her head as she straightens. "I saw a blur and heard your voice." And that was enough.
Tucking a curl behind her ear, she peers down the alleyway Damien had been about to storm through, expression sharpening with the kind of alertness usually reserved for late-night bar fights and poorly judged dares. Aria, was it? Flora doesn’t know exactly who it belongs to, but her brain starts drawing lines anyway. Daughter? Niece? Some poor soul caught under that gruff, bear-pawed protection she’s starting to suspect hides a gold-foil centre?
Her brows lift as she glances back at him, lips parting just slightly as if she might ask, but instead, she lifts her fingers and whistles sharply, two short notes slicing through the noise like a blade. Overhead, Spice wheels down from the clouds with her usual dramatic flourish, white wings glinting like spilled starlight. Flora doesn’t bother hiding the way she grins at the sight, or the quick flick of satisfaction in her gaze before she turns it squarely back on Damien.
"If you give Spice a description, she'll be able to look from above."
We need love, But all we want is danger
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
