FIA
Thorne disappeared into the back again and returned with a sealed zip-locked bag. The mourning moon sat inside, its petals a deep, unsettling purple that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it.
"You have to remember this thing is very toxic," Thorne said. His voice carried a weight that made me pay attention. It felt like he was trying to tell me I still had a choice and I shouldn't make the wrong one. "Be safe."
"I know what I am doing," I assured him.
"We have a sealed room for handling hazardous materials. I'm sure you remember it. You'll need to work in there."
He gestured for me to follow, and I did, the hazmat suit still tucked under one arm and the bag held carefully in my other hand. The flower barely moved inside its containment, but I swore I could feel something emanating from it anyway. A wrongness that prickled against my senses.
