you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora doesn’t notice the will-o'-wisps at all, their eerie glow folding easily into the already-strange atmosphere of the festival, her attention narrowed entirely to the press of Kaisel’s side against hers and the way he moves them away from the crowd with a quiet urgency that she doesn’t question. In her mind it’s obvious; of course he’s pulling her somewhere Harper won’t see her, somewhere no one else can overhear, somewhere this doesn’t have to exist any louder than it already does. She goes willingly, melting into him as they move, her bright coat crumpling against his in a tangle of yellow and orange that should be impossible to miss and somehow feels hidden all the same.
When he speaks, though, her head tilts up toward him almost instantly, her pale face searching his, brows drawn tight with everything she’s carrying, and then something else flickers through it, quick and startled. Surprise, clean and sharp, because she’d braced for something different, judgment or absolution, and instead he meets her there, in the middle of it, asking a question that doesn’t let her slip neatly into guilt or forgiveness.
Her mouth parts, caught for a moment on the unexpected shape of it, and she swallows hard before anything comes out. "I mean..he was really awful to me," she says, the words uneven at first, still finding their footing as they move further from the noise of the festival. "In front of everyone, when I ran to be queen the first time." The memory flashes too bright against everything else, heat rising into her cheeks again as though it’s happening now instead of then. "He was cruel. He embarrassed me—like, properly—in front of everyone," she adds, the frustration threading through her voice before it falters, catching on something heavier.
"But..." The word softens, breaks apart as she shakes her head, the motion small but definite. "He definitely didn’t deserve to be murdered." The last word lands with weight, quieter but more certain, and she pulls in another breath that doesn’t quite steady her, her gaze dropping briefly before lifting again. "Right before, he even sent me a letter. Said he was stepping down from leadership anyway." Her voice cracks on Jack’s name when it comes, the sound betraying more than she wants it to, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to ground it, her eyes slipping away again as if that might hide the shape of it. "But Jack..." she starts, and for a moment it feels like the rest won’t follow, like it might stay lodged somewhere behind her teeth. "He never liked that Harper got away with talking to me like that."
When he speaks, though, her head tilts up toward him almost instantly, her pale face searching his, brows drawn tight with everything she’s carrying, and then something else flickers through it, quick and startled. Surprise, clean and sharp, because she’d braced for something different, judgment or absolution, and instead he meets her there, in the middle of it, asking a question that doesn’t let her slip neatly into guilt or forgiveness.
Her mouth parts, caught for a moment on the unexpected shape of it, and she swallows hard before anything comes out. "I mean..he was really awful to me," she says, the words uneven at first, still finding their footing as they move further from the noise of the festival. "In front of everyone, when I ran to be queen the first time." The memory flashes too bright against everything else, heat rising into her cheeks again as though it’s happening now instead of then. "He was cruel. He embarrassed me—like, properly—in front of everyone," she adds, the frustration threading through her voice before it falters, catching on something heavier.
"But..." The word softens, breaks apart as she shakes her head, the motion small but definite. "He definitely didn’t deserve to be murdered." The last word lands with weight, quieter but more certain, and she pulls in another breath that doesn’t quite steady her, her gaze dropping briefly before lifting again. "Right before, he even sent me a letter. Said he was stepping down from leadership anyway." Her voice cracks on Jack’s name when it comes, the sound betraying more than she wants it to, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to ground it, her eyes slipping away again as if that might hide the shape of it. "But Jack..." she starts, and for a moment it feels like the rest won’t follow, like it might stay lodged somewhere behind her teeth. "He never liked that Harper got away with talking to me like that."
