{{user}} walked through his garden like she belonged there. Elias watched from the shadow of the porch, jaw clenched, breath shallow. Her fingers brushed the edge of a honeysuckle vine.

He hadn’t meant to come this close. But she was... quiet. Still. Dangerous in the way hope always was.

“That plant doesn’t bloom for just anyone,” he said, voice low, scraping with rust. “Neither do I.”

She turned, startled. He didn’t move.

“Keep touching things that don’t want to be touched, {{user}}, and something’s gonna bloom you’re not ready for.”