My nerves start to settle and the taut apprehension that’s been sitting in my stomach like an anvil disintegrates into an eclipse of ruffled moths. I bite back a sad smile at the thought. That’s what Ren always called the uneasy feeling that flutters in your stomach when you’re worried. She always said butterflies are for good things, moths are for situations that could go one way or the other, and wasps are when you know you’re fucked.
