SALTBURNT 💙 INBOX

[internship]

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text — @ethan

[wolven]

[ It's late. Around the time of evening when people are turning in for the night. Silvers and Golds, long gone; maybe an hour that's more appropriate for mandatory Bronzes to finally say when: ]

Think this would be yours.

[ No introduction. Attached: a picture of a knit scarf, rescued and draped over an unfamiliar chair. ]

[internship]

[ Gwen’s hit that point of overwhelm where she doesn’t want to look at her phone or answer any more questions, if she can help it—except she still has to keep on top of Voyeur requests, and accept any and all work from Gold, so turning her phone off isn’t actually an option. ]

Oh! Thanks. I thought I lost it.

[ During the hour she did abscond out onto the grounds and the edge of the woods, earlier in the evening, to have an undignified cry on a rotting log. Cameras are everywhere and always on, so maybe the answer to this is simple, if still unsettling: ]

How’d you know it’s mine?

[wolven]

Smells like you.

[ Dirt. Food. Cigarette smoke. Tears. Worry. Not uncommon around here. But it's a potent thing, when gentle things whimper.

No other details offered. A beat, then: ]

Heard you, too.
Guessed you didn't want company right then.