The flower shop smelled faintly of lilies and damp earth, but tonight the sweetness did little to soothe the storm inside.
Kalisa sat on the edge of the counter, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her face pale but her eyes sharp. She had changed clothes since the fight at the docks, but her knuckles still bore faint cuts, and there was a stubborn streak of blood on her sleeve she hadn't bothered to wash.
Justin slumped in a chair near the back, clutching his ribs and wincing with every breath. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a kind of stunned silence. Every so often, he glanced toward Kalisa with something like guilt, but when her gaze flicked to him, he quickly looked away.
Sherly was pacing. Her apron was still on, though it was smeared with soil from the day's work, and her fingers twisted nervously in the ties. She had locked the front door hours ago, but her body moved like someone expecting it to burst open at any second.
