It was already getting dark. And the sky was way too pretty for my taste.
You know the kind of sky I mean—deep blue, with delicate clouds like someone blew cotton across an oil painting? Yeah. That kind of sky makes me suspicious. Beautiful nights tend to end in disaster.
And yet, there I was—walking through the streets of Ashveil, clean boots, neat coat, a pouch of coins in my pocket, and a damn improvised bouquet in my hand.
Wildflowers. Picked along the way. Three were yellow, one had a bite mark, and all of them looked like they'd been grown out of pure rage. Perfect.
I arranged them in the least cheesy way possible (according to my personal aesthetic standards) and headed toward Lina's house.
And before anyone says anything—no, I wasn't in love. This was strategy.
A symbolic gesture. A subtle and entirely manipulative way to keep her interest high enough to keep helping me. A charm. An emotional trick. An investment, at best.
