I swear my heart has stopped beating. My lungs have stopped working. My brain has crashed. All I can do is stare up at the man with wide eyes, hands beginning to shake where they rest on the desk. He knows my name. He knows my shop.

He knows me.

I don't say anything. I can't think, let alone speak, so he continues.

"I'm looking for a bouquet. Can you give me some options?"

I blink up at him, trying to figure out his angle here. I don't understand why he's even entertaining the idea of actually being a patron at my shop. Is this like a cat and mouse game? Is he toying with me? Finding amusement in this?

If he's expecting banter and a fair fight like last time, that won't happen. I'm not The Executioner right now. I'm just Sunny. If he wanted The Executioner then he should've confronted me while I was The Executioner, it's simple. I'm not in that mindset right now. I can't even stop shaking.

I basically go on autopilot, still not speaking to him and walking over to a display near the counter. It's a wall of bouquets, though they're of the smaller variety. I have a feeling he's just messing with me right now, so I don't put much thought into it. I grab some roses, some hydrangeas, and tulips.

I don't look in his direction as I walk back to the counter, laying them out on the wooden surface with shaky hands after I move my drawing out of the way. Once I have all three options displayed, I hesitantly glance up.

Clover is already looking at me. I close my mouth to hide my trembling jaw as he averts his eyes down to examine them. I try to focus on maintaining my breathing but it's difficult. I have this pit in my stomach, this horrible feeling and I already know what it is. I'm about to lose my fish. I'm about to lose my shop. No way he's keeping my identity to himself—if he hasn't told people already.

Then again, he is already handling this kind of strangely. I'm the most deadly villain in the city and he figured out my identity. Then, he came to my shop in civilian clothes to buy flowers. This doesn't feel like protocol

"Hm," he hums decisively, putting on a show of examining them. Then, he flicks his gaze up to mine. "Which one do you think says 'you're under arrest?'"

I can't do this.

I just can't. I don't know if he's expecting banter, if this is some sort of psychological torture, or just flat out revenge for what I did to him. Should I even apologize? Probably not, because the longer I have to stand here and face the fact this man is about to take everything from me, the less I regret it.

I don't answer him. I haven't spoken since he got here. At this point I'm just doing everything I can not to break down. I'm losing it all. Everything I built, everything Monarch gave me for me to be happy and live a normal healthy life. My fish. Where will they go? Nobody will take care of the flowers for me, absolutely not. That's so much work. They'll all die.

"These, maybe?" His tone still sounds mischievous and amused, but there's the smallest bit of confusion to it. Like he doesn't understand why I'm not playing along. He motions to the hydrangeas when he says that, which are for apologies, so I'm assuming he doesn't actually need them. Doesn't seem like this man can do any wrong to begin with.

I nod. I don't know what else to do. The guy actually pulls out his credit card, too. He holds it out to me, his bare skin touching my trembling, glove-clad hands as I reluctantly take it. I can't believe he's actually being a customer right now. It just... it's so upsetting. It feels mean. Why is he messing with me?

Once I'm done ringing him up and running his card, I hand it back to him with the receipt wrapped around it. He pockets it, and I begin to grab the bouquet so that I can wrap her up and give her over. Except, right before my gloved hands can make contact, he stops me.

"Actually, I'm allergic to whatever those gloves are made of. Take them off."

At this point, I'm seconds from breaking down.

Genuinely, I don't know how much longer I can hold it together before Clover the top hero gets to see Monarch's infamous executioner break. My eyes already feel watery, but I push it down. I keep calm.

I don't look at him. I just do as requested, too scared and disoriented to do anything else. I grab the gloves by the middle finger and pull them off, and this time I'm shaking so bad that you'd have to be genuinely blind to not see it. Mostly my hands—I can't keep them still.

I can't talk. I can't tell him no. If I speak, I'll cry. If I look at him again, I'll cry. If I look at any of my flowers or my fish or my arts and crafts then I'll break down, too. I never realized I could be so fragile. A part of me always knew I'd end up back in prison. Back in isolation. I'm just not meant to be with other people. Other living things. Maybe I shouldn't be so disappointed.

I stare down at the hydrangeas. Pink, bright, green stems. Healthy, water droplets dotting the petals and running down the leaves. They're beautiful.

Maybe I won't kill them this time.

Maybe my ability is gone, or maybe I just outgrew it, or maybe I've just finally been rid of this burden in general, randomly. Maybe it switched overnight and I can suddenly heal things. Maybe—

I cut off my thoughts by carefully grabbing the flowers with both hands. I can't even feel surprised when they're immediately turning brown. The stems wither and shrivel up, the petals curl as they dry out, and if I hold them long enough this won't stop until they're practically dust.

I drop the flowers. Dead leaves and petals scatter across the counter and all over my hands. Some fall to the floor. Sickening crunches fill the air as I kill them, flowers I took care of and grew myself, wasted. Gone. Dead because of me.

Why would he make me do that? Why would he make me kill them? I guess he doesn't understand what flowers mean to me. He doesn't get that killing a flower is absolutely catastrophic—almost like killing a pet, but probably not quite that level, since I would care even more if this was a fish.

I already feel the guilt eating away at me. She could've gone home with someone. She had so much to live for.

I stare down at my trembling hands. I feel my trembling jaw. I can barely stand up, my legs feel like they're jello.

My vision goes blurry.

I need him out of here.

Even if he comes back with the police, even if I'm already surrounded, I need him to leave. I need to go figure out what to do with my fish before they come and get me.

I forget that I'm not wearing gloves or else I probably wouldn't risk this, but I don't hesitate. I don't waste any more time. I round the counter, breathing labored and head ducked so Clover doesn't question me about my current state. I literally can't talk and I have no time to waste.

I flatten both of my palms against his chest, but when the man inhales sharply, tenses and flinches in what I can only assume is pain, I realize I put them over the stab wound I gave him. Or... part of it. So, I move my hands to his shoulders.

Then, I push.

He has to let me, this guy could and has easily over powered me. He's definitely just letting me move him as I push him backwards towards the door.

"What're you—"

I finally have him out.

I slam the door in his face. I lock it.

I turn and head toward the stairs without looking back. Once I'm in the stairwell and there's no risk of an interrogation, the tears begin to fall.