The root moved like a slow-beating heart inside him.
Kael pressed a hand to his ribs, expecting thorns.
Expecting pain.
But there was nothing.
Just the quiet, insistent pulse of something alive beneath his skin.
Kane hadn't stopped watching him.
"You're hiding something," Kane muttered, voice raw.
His body was still shedding—strips of bark-like skin flaking away with every step.
Blood gleamed underneath.
Too much blood.
Kael said nothing.
The sun was setting.
The air smelled of salt and damp earth, a far cry from the garden's rotting sweetness.
They had stumbled into a ragged stretch of coastline,
the sea stretching black and endless ahead of them.
Behind them, the ruins of the garden were nothing but a stain on the horizon—
a bruise in the earth.
But Kael could still feel it.
Could it feel him?
Kane coughed, spat something dark onto the sand.
"We need shelter."
Kael nodded absently. His fingers twitched.
The root twitched back.
A flicker of movement caught his eye—
a thin, spindly vine curling around his wrist, so faint it could've been a trick of the fading light.
But when he blinked, it was gone.
Not gone.
Just hiding.
Kane didn't see it.
He was too busy scanning the shoreline, his gaze sharp despite the ruin of his body.
"There," he said, pointing to a cluster of jagged rocks farther down the beach.
"Caves. We can rest there."
Kael followed.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Not from exhaustion.
From growth.
The cave was shallow, damp with sea spray.
Kael crouched near the entrance, watching the tide roll in.
The water looked black in the twilight.
Hungry.
Kane collapsed against the far wall, his breath ragged.
"We made it out," he said, like he was trying to convince himself.
"It's over."
Kael flexed his hand.
The root flexed with him.
No, he thought. It's not.
Kane's eyes flickered shut.
Exhaustion. Blood loss. It didn't matter.
He was fading.
Kael should have cared.
But all he could think about was the warmth spreading through his chest.
The root was growing.
Fast.
Too fast.
He pressed a hand to his sternum and felt it—
the faintest ridge beneath his skin.
A single, slender tendril winding its way up toward his throat.
And then—
A whisper.
Not words. Not a voice.
A wanting.
The root was hungry.
And it knew exactly how to be fed.
Kael's gaze drifted to Kane.
To the raw, exposed flesh beneath his peeling skin.
To the steady pulse in his throat.
The root twisted inside him.
Kael's breath hitched.
No.
But the root didn't listen.
It never did.
Kane's eyes snapped open.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
"Kael," he said, very softly.
Kael's fingers curled into fists.
His veins stood out dark against his skin.
The root was no longer hiding.
It was blooming.
Kane didn't run.
He just smiled.
It was the saddest thing Kael had ever seen.
"Guess it's true what they say," Kane whispered.
"Nothing ever really dies in the garden."
Then the vines tore free.