Chapter Thirty-Six
Isla knelt in her tiny private greenhouse, her hands sinking into the rich, earthy soil.
She loved the feel of it—grounding, simple, and satisfying.
She had spent the afternoon tending to struggling plants, repotting seedlings into fresh soil, and labeling each tray carefully for the spring.
She checked leaves for signs of mildew or fungus and adjusted the moisture levels of the soil where needed.
She could have used her Aetheric gifts to speed the process, but sometimes it was good to work with her hands, to feel the life in the plants directly.
Besides, after a tough training session with George that morning, she didn’t want to tire herself further.
She heard the door creak open, and looking over, she saw Andrew enter and smiled in greeting. Edmund had been doing a workout just outside on the grassy area surrounding them while keeping watch over her.
Andrew looked back as Edmund dropped into a series of precise, almost terrifying push-ups, arms stiff, back straight, core tight. Every movement screamed of army-style drills—discipline, grit, and a certain unforgiving intensity.
“That man has a dark, frightening exercise regime,” Andrew muttered, shaking his head. “I’m glad I met you before he did.”
Isla laughed. “Maybe, but my first impression of you wasn’t quite as impressive as Edmund’s grand entrance.”
Andrew walked slowly toward her, boots soft on the greenhouse floor. He leaned down and pressed a short, tender kiss to her lips, one that carried a depth she loved.
“Well,” he murmured, pulling back just slightly and looking a little smug, “I must have done something right, since I’m the one who gets to kiss you now.”
Laughing, Isla looked outside, glad that Edmund seemed preoccupied.
She reached to pat his chest but paused when she saw the muck on her hands.
She didn’t want to soil the crisp white fabric of his shirt.
He noticed and, with a playful grin, gently guided her hand anyway so it rested squarely over his heart. He didn’t mind the dirt at all.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice soft. “You did. And you have nothing to worry about where Edmund’s concerned.”
“I was never worried,” Andrew said lightly, though the fleeting shadow in his eyes betrayed the truth—he had worried, just a little; she could tell that much.
They lingered there for a heartbeat longer, warm amidst the damp, earthy scent of the greenhouse.
“Are you finished here? Would you like to go and get some cake?”
“I am definitely finished if cake is on offer. Let me grab my coat.”
Andrew laughed. “Allow me,” he said, brushing past her toward her small worktable, where she spent hours tending seedlings and repotting plants. Her coat lay draped over a stool nearby, just beside the table. As Andrew leaned to get her coat, she heard a strange noise.
Looking down, Isla saw that Andrew stood on a wooden hatch, blended into the floorboards. It gave access to the brick cistern beneath the greenhouse, once used to store rainwater for the plants.
Many of the raised timber-framed beds around them were built over drainage channels or old water reservoirs, designed to keep the soil moist. Isla’s eyes lingered on the hatch; something about its color was off.
The wood looked weakened, rotting faster than it should, as if some unseen hand had tampered with it.
A low groan echoed from the floor beneath Andrew’s boots.
“Andrew, look out!” she cried.
Instinctively, Isla extended her hands, summoning the thick vines from a nearby pot.
They twisted and writhed, reaching toward him, wrapping around his arms and torso just before the weakened floorboards gave way.
He plunged downward, but his fall was jerked to a stop by the vines, his chest hitting the green house floor with a heavy thump, his chin scraping against the ground as he dropped a little, leaving a trickle of blood.
“Are you okay?” she called, racing forward.
“I’m fine,” he wheezed.
She knelt beside him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Edmund appeared at her side, having heard the commotion. Together, with the vine supporting him, they managed to haul Andrew to his feet, and he dusted himself off as Isla released the vines that had just prevented his fall.
Peering over the edge, Isla’s stomach sank.
Jagged shards of crystal jutted from the damp soil below, glinting dangerously in the light—sharp enough to have made a fall fatal.
Whoever had tampered with the floor knew exactly where she spent a lot of her quiet time.
She shivered. Andrew could have been seriously hurt—or worse.
She lifted her hand, letting her palm glow softly. The trickle of blood on his chin vanished, leaving his skin smooth once more.
He offered her a nod of thanks, as his hand curled around hers. The weight of it all pressed in again—the relentlessness of it, the constant danger. When, she wondered grimly, would it ever end?