Nova Peak back to the old house

lorcan watches her shrink, watches the fear stiffen her limbs and press her ears flat. it twists something ugly in him—guilt, maybe, or disgust at his own failure to contain what burns behind his ribs. he hadn’t meant to bare his teeth.
they don’t do anything, his voice drags like a carcass through frost. they rot. they wilt. they die.
his shoulders rise, then fall with a slow, uneven breath.
flowers don’t mean peace. not to me.
but still, lorcan stays seated beside her. he doesn’t look at her, but his voice loses its edge by a hair. he lets his shoulders relax, falling into awkward silence with the woman.