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Summary
For all her skills as a linguist, Eve has yet to master the language of flowers.
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“You didn’t walk through the halls of the facility like this.”
Her hand draws down her neck, finding the chain that hangs there, polished resin embedding the petals of honeysuckle, white clover and edelweiss, sprinkled with delicate violet of blue heliotrope.
“I wanted you to see me wearing this, and only this.”
Series
- Part 5 of soft, unspoken sounds