[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/cowGHCU.png[/img][/center]

[center][color=2CAA50]Kassandra Keighley-Rey[/color][/center] 

At the sound of others picking up the soft, peaceful strains of Bob Marley, Kassandra’s hesitant smile grew. These people weren’t bad. Despite all of them being convicted of various things, despite all of them being ‘criminals’. Maybe none of them needed to be here. Yes, she'd seen the grafitti (pretty), the cigarettes (ew) and at least one joint (maybe Prince was a rasta?). But so far, she wasn't convinced.

Henry’s approach stilled her melody – and before she could put the words together, he apologized to her. That wasn’t right! [color=2CAA50] “I – I’m sorry too! If you hadn’t had to help me, you wouldn’t be here at all! It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”[/color] There was a part of her that really meant to say something else. To thank him for stepping in when everyone else turned their heads, or pretended not to see. To admit that she had liked the bar, despite what had occurred.

[color=2CAA50] “You’re not a bad person at all. You know? I… you…”[/color] She chewed her lip, finally resting her gaze on her worn-out trainers. She hated it when this happened. When she couldn’t convince herself to speak her mind. When what she needed to say warred with what others wanted to hear. Unconsciously, her fist balled up. Pulling at the scabs of her healing knuckles. 

[color=2CAA50] “...sorry.”[/color]