The greenhouse sat atop the Artemis Tower like a secret.
Galathea Brooks had walked past the rooftop access door dozens of times without realizing what was behind it. The staircase was narrow, the metal steps worn smooth from years of careful use, and at the top, a simple glass door opened into something that did not belong in the middle of a city.
Warm air spilled outward when she stepped inside.
Humidity clung to her skin instantly.
For a moment she just stood there, breathing it in.
Rows of plants curved through the space in layered terraces --towering orchids, sculptural ferns, strange twisting vines that clung to hanging trellises. The glass ceiling arched high above, capturing the early morning light and bending it through leaves that shimmered faintly with condensation.
The city roared quietly below the rooftop walls.
But here, the sound softened into something distant and unimportant.
Galathea stepped deeper into the greenhouse.
The plants moved.
Not dramatically.
