"Can I have a rose?" The question cut the morning quiet. I looked up from cutting stems and almost nicked my thumb. "Sure." My voice came out small, like every time someone actually asked for something from this shop. "We have reds, pinks, a stubborn yellow." Nobara laughed. The sound hit the bell over the door and brightened the whole room. "Give me one you think I should hate and still want," she said. "Surprise me." "You're very specific." I tried to keep my hands steady. "Do you want thorns?" "I can take pain." She leaned on the counter, elbows planted, eyes busy and blunt and ridiculously unbothered. "Name's Nobara, by the way. Not that it matters if you give me a dead daisy." I blinked. Her name was a small, sharp thing that slid into the shaped spaces of the shop and warmed them. I hadn't heard anyone give a name back to me in months. "I'm Maki," I said. My bad habit was to give an alias—something softer than the thing I wore now. "Maki Fukawa." Her eyes actually searched my face. "Maki Fukawa. That's... nice." She smirked. "You live here or are you a ghost haunting floral arrangements?" "I'm alive." I said it too quickly. It felt important to say. "Mostly alive." She held the smirk like a promise. "Good. Then pick for me." I picked a rose I hadn't shown anyone: a deep coral that caught light with