Moonlight reflects from a flowering vine to catch in his hair. His hand curves beneath a delicate blossom as large as his palm. “May I have a flower?” Yarrow asks, as if talking to vines is normal. After a moment of stillness, the blossom loosens from the vine and falls into Yarrow’s hand. Its light brightens between his fingers, and he offers it to Folly. “Since you can’t see in the dark.”
