don't look directly at the sun / nowles & mourn ; jb

A rose with the thorns picked clean off, Mourn stands there outside of the room that they've got his niece in and pretends that this doesn't hurt him. He pretends that he can be proud, that he doesn't want to hold his brother and let him cry.

Losing Fleur two years ago was like a membrane, so thin and fragile, tearing. The thing that had separated the Adroxis family from the rest of the district for decades had finally split. No longer were they the descendants of a victor but the scarred bearers of fresh tragedy.

Fleur Adroxis died and their world began to crumble.

There's a gun holstered against his chest, one that Nowles gifted him last year on his birthday as a proud gift to the head of the family. A tool exquisite in build made to be thin and light for easier concealment. It's a piece that her great grandfather would have been proud of. Now it sits heavy over his heart.

Mourn doesn't want Nowles to be afraid. He pastes a signature gentle smile on his face to hide the hurt and pushes his way into the room.

She looks so young. He almost forgot how little his little niece is but there she is. He remembers her placing her first tooth she lost into his palm so proudly years ago. She was going to shoot the tooth fairy, she'd promised him.

He'd had Sal wear a bullet proof vest when he went to put a quarter under her pillow.

How can he do this? Just stand here and send off one of their youngest like nothing's wrong? His hands, so steady at his side, his breathing normal, the scar on his chest, just over his heart, reminds him to be calm. He feels his finger around the trigger, his eyes on Night's, then Eve's as he pulled it.

He could do the ceremony, he can do this too.

"Nowles," he says and shakes his head, "I've only come to say goodbye."

There's nothing he can do. Once reaped, there are no strings left to pull. He could try to shoot his way out of here with Nowles in tow but all that would accomplish is punishment for them all. There's nothing he can do to make this alright, and Mourn feels as useless as that day in the square where he watched Tess Seraphim fall. Everything from here on out is left up to her.

"You'll be home in a couple of weeks, no need to fret."