My thoughts tell me to talk to Flora.

You swing your legs off the bed and tidy yourself up, so you’re at least a little presentable. You have a terrible case of bed hair, and your breath probably stinks, but if Flora wanted to talk to you, she’d open up and do just that.

Flora is on the couch with her fingers against her forehead, obviously wrapped up in her head. She jolts when she hears the door open, but she doesn’t say anything to you. She only looks away and clears her throat. You shuffled towards the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water… “Are you crying?” you ask.

“No,” Flora replies. Her voice is low, which tells you if she wasn’t already crying, she’s very close. “I’m not crying.”

Without Amari to get in the way between you two, you walk over and offer Flora your water. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Flora takes your glass and sets it down on the table. She looks like she’s focusing on every little detail in the room where you aren’t standing. “Thanks. I know that already.”

You stare at her absently and wait for her to continue. You sit down beside her and place a hand on her shoulder. Flora tenses when you do this and leans forward, covering her face with her palms. “I’m stressed, Warren.”

Up to this point, you had regarded Flora as a matured woman with concepts that far succeeded your own, but now as you looked at you, you realized that the front she put on was a façade, and that she was as fragile as a sandcastle. However, you suppose she’s been through a lot for someone who had such a clean and careful upbringing.

“Has Amari helped you at all now that she’s back?”

Flora doesn’t answer. You have a feeling she knows you listened to her conversation just a few moments ago. “She’s all business. I can’t get through to her. All business.” She murmurs at the end, her eyes becoming distant.

“Spring,” you reply. “This Spring I’ll terminate my contract with the Syndicate and help you get home. How’s that sound?”

“Amari has an obsession with me. She won’t tell me why, but I think it’s because there’s money on my life that she wants. She had the others practically sit on top of me when she brought me in. Kenji is more human than some others but Scarlet? Alexandra? Their loyalty runs deeper than they suggest. They'd fight you. Maybe even kill you if you helped me escape.”

“So, where does this lead you then? Stay until you’re sold off again? Tricked and abused? I can help you.”

Flora, regards you. Through a thin sheet of tears, she studies you, attempting to source any corruption in your offer. “How can I trust you? You’re a contractor, easily bought. I’ve only given you a brief look into my life. Once you learn more, you might turn away and sell me off to the others.”

“A brief look?” You ask, astonished that there’s more to her background. “You told me about your pampered upbringing, your **** marriage, the way your husband tried to sell you—“

“There’s more,” Flora cuts in sharply. Her tongue rolls over her lips, and her staring becomes harsh. The amber twinkled with a fire you hadn’t seen in her or any of the others before. It wasn’t mischievous or evil, but clever and cunning. Just then, you realize that she always looked smart… twice as intelligent as the others, you remarked once before.

“I’ve got a heart. I adored a tavern girl at one point, remember? If you’d let me get to know you better, I could help you. Besides, I’m the closest thing you have to a friend if nothing else.”

Flora’s glare softens, and she then curses. “I don’t trust you enough to do anything more than complain right now.”

“OK then,” you say. “Then take your time. Work it in your head and reach out to me when you’re ready.”

Flora deflates herself completely and reclines into the couch. “Thanks, Warren.”

You nod and direct your eyes elsewhere, trying to find little details in the room to focus on before you realize this might get awkward if you linger any longer. You planned on going back to your room, so that’s what you do. You only got to the door when Flora called for you.

You turned to face and saw her standing on her knees, staring intently at you. “Do you wanna fuck around?”

“What?”

“Do you want to fuck?”

Flora rarely swore. Up until today, her tongue was a clean slate of wisdom and class, so when you heard her question, it sounded queer and foreign.

“…what?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Flora says, after releasing a heavy sigh.