Crossroads
The fire was low in its pit, just dying embers which were throwing flickering shadows around camp. The tension of it permeated the atmosphere-it was in everyone's hair.
Flora sat cross-armed on a log, staring across at the man opposite her. Adrian loitered near the edge of camp, his shoulders tense, hands buried deep in his pockets. He wasn't really there-not in the way it counted. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere darker.
"Adrian," she said, her tone even.
He didn't turn.
She huffed through her nose, trying to keep down the frustration. "You can't just keep pushing me away."
"I'm not," he muttered, but there was no weight behind it.
Flora's fingers curled into fists. "Then what do you call this?"
A beat of silence. Then, finally, he turned. His face was unreadable, his
