[ On a normal day, perhaps Flynn would let her go. He would listen, and let her go, and worry from afar for the frightened girl he's never seen before.
Today, though, guilt itches under his skin: guilt about inaction, and about the things he didn't do, the choices he didn't make. Guilt about things he let slide, he thinks: it pulls at him, it makes him want to tear open a hole in the world.
He can't let it go. He can't let her go.
Instead, he tears after her, his boots loud on the washed stone, calling out, ]
Please wait! I can fix this! You don't have to run, I'm so sorry— you don't even have to be fine!
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Today, though, guilt itches under his skin: guilt about inaction, and about the things he didn't do, the choices he didn't make. Guilt about things he let slide, he thinks: it pulls at him, it makes him want to tear open a hole in the world.
He can't let it go. He can't let her go.
Instead, he tears after her, his boots loud on the washed stone, calling out, ]
Please wait! I can fix this! You don't have to run, I'm so sorry— you don't even have to be fine!