⚠️ Content Warning:
This chapter contains themes of death, grief, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.
Later that evening, the three of them sat in silence—an awkward, uneasy calm settling in the air.
Rose hadn't said much since the incident.
She stared down at the tea in her hands, fingers trembling slightly despite the heat. Her usual sharpness, her controlled posture—it was gone. Stripped away by the reality that someone really tried to kill her.
"This was never supposed to be like this," she finally whispered. "Back then… it was just control. A circle. A stupid, twisted way to feel powerful."
Annie watched her carefully. "And now?"
Rose looked up, her voice hollow. "Now it's something else. Organized. Ruthless. This isn't my legacy. It's a weaponized shadow."
Kayla sat beside her, silent for a moment before gently resting a hand on Rose's shoulder.
"You're not that girl anymore," she said softly. "You've seen what it's become."
Annie added, "And whether we like it or not… you're a target too."
Rose looked between them, almost confused by their kindness.
"You don't have to forgive me," she said. "But... thank you. For not letting me get buried with the garden."
Kayla gave a faint smile. "You're still human. That's more than I can say for whoever's leading this."
After that night, things only got worse.
The Rose Shadow Garden claimed its first life.
She was one of the earliest victims of the original Garden—quiet, resilient, and once brave enough to speak out. Her name was Alina Cho, and now she was gone.
Found in a remote greenhouse, her body bound in thorned wire like the others. Only this time, there was no rescue. No sirens in time. Just a single rose placed gently on her chest—its petals darker than blood.
This time, there was no "almost."
No second chance.
The news spread like wildfire.
"First Confirmed Death Linked to Rose Shadow Garden."
"Government Declares Emergency Investigation."
"Domestic Terror Label Being Considered."
The grief was raw. Alina's family stood shattered, the funeral broadcast quietly by local news. No dramatics. Just pain.
Annie, Kayla, and Rose stood at the edge of the burial, dressed in black.
Kayla clenched her jaw. "We were too late."
Rose stared ahead, her voice barely a whisper. "They're not pruning anymore… they're cutting at the root."
Annie's hands curled into fists. "This ends now. No more names. No more funerals."
And somewhere behind cold walls and hidden signals, the Black Rose smiled.
Because death was the final message—
And the garden had truly begun to bloom.