The greenhouse had settled into its nighttime rhythm.
Pinkish grow lights hidden among the trellises cast soft pools of light across the terraces. Moisture clung to broad leaves and orchid petals. The irrigation system released an occasional drip somewhere deeper inside the greenhouse, each quiet sound carrying through the warm, humid air. Beyond the glass ceiling, the city glowed against the darkness.
Tansy slept on the meridienne.
The blanket had slipped halfway down her arm.
Galathea Brooks pulled it back into place.
A minute later she adjusted the pillow beneath Tansy's head.
A few moments after that, she brushed a loose strand of silver-blonde hair away from the girl's face.
Tansy didn't stir.
Galathea sat back.
Then immediately leaned forward again.
The movement beneath Tansy's skin seemed slower tonight.
The dark pigment drifting through her wrist no longer rushed like a living current. It moved lazily now.
That should have been reassuring.
