The old greenhouse sat at the edge of campus, forgotten by most and claimed by Monica Von Astrom approximately four days after the Arboretum.
The glass panels were cracked in places, letting in shafts of golden afternoon light that painted patterns on the floor. Vines had claimed the walls, growing in strange spirals that seemed almost deliberate. The air smelled of earth and growing things and something faintly sweet, like honey mixed with ozone.
Monica stood at a workbench, her honey-blonde hair tied back in a messy ponytail. Ferdinand the fern sat beside her in his pot, leaves rustling occasionally as if offering commentary. Samples from the Clockwork Arboretum spread across the table in careful rows. Copper leaves. Brass flowers. Sections of vine that still pulsed faintly with luminescent sap.
Jacob Williams stood three feet away, holding a datapad and trying very hard not to stare at Monica's profile.
He was failing.
