?

  After the bath, Mira sits small and blinking on a soft, fluffy doll blanket—white with lace edges, barely big enough to wrap around her shoulders. Her damp silver hair falls in soft, tangled wisps around her face. The delicate, flowing white nightdress she wears shifts lightly as she curls up, bare legs folded beneath her, toes peeking out.

  Adrian sits nearby at his lab, the inspection lamp casting a sharp, clinical light across the table. The microscope is already focused, the tray of fine tools—tweezers, micro-spatulas, sterilized swabs—laid out in orderly rows.

  “Adrian...” Mira’s voice is small, breathy, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

  He doesn’t even glance up.

  “You walked barefoot. In a forest. At two inches tall.”

  Adrian is already moving. The lamp angles closer, the glow bright against her legs, feet, and small hands. Under the magnified lens, the smallest details sharpen—slight scratches along her calf, a speck of dirt beneath a toenail, and the light pink bloom of a minor abrasion.

  “...Wait. My leg kinda itches.”

  His breath catches, sharp and tight, as he reaches for the tweezers.

  “Hold still.”

  Adrian stays focused—a sterilised swab, a fine dab of antiseptic cream, a micro-patch applied with the gentlest pressure. The tip of the tool traces over her skin like a breath, and he pauses, leaning in closer as if a single missed detail could spiral into something irreparable.

  Mira sits frozen, her heart racing as Adrian works with such intensity. The warmth of his hands against her skin makes her face burn, a heat that spreads all the way to her ears. Mira feels something strange settle in her chest.

  She doesn’t know how to name it.

  She only knows that she is under his microscope, under his hands, under his eyes—and yet, for the first time, she doesn’t feel like an experiment.

  “Does it hurt?” he asks. Adrian’s eyes narrow slightly.

  “The sterilizer… it’ll sting a little,” he adds.

  Adrian studies the patch for a moment longer, then slowly draws his hands away. He reaches for the tray beside him and begins placing each tool back where it belongs.

  “Are you hungry?” His voice softens.

  Mira blinks. “What time is it?”

  Adrian checks his watch. “Five.”

  Only then does she notice the hollow feeling in her stomach. The shortbread from earlier suddenly feels like nothing at all, and her stomach gives a small growl.

  Adrian is already heading for the kitchen.

  “What do you feel like?” he asks. “Soup, eggs, steak?”

  She looks at him, surprised. “What do you even have? Your fridge was basically empty last time.”

  “I stocked it up,” he says, opening the refrigerator. “Just in case.”

  She lowers her voice, half shy, half playful. “Whatever… I’m tiny, so just pick something you like and give me a crumb.”

  Adrian steps downstairs to the kitchen, his white shirt sleeves rolled up as Adrian reaches into the freezer, pulling out a small piece of chicken breast. From her spot inside his shirt pocket, Mira watches him wash the rice before sliding it into the cooker.

  "You bought rice?" she asks.

  Adrian leans down, his voice a low whisper near her ear. "Since someone likes Japanese food."

  Mira’s face burns. She keeps her mouth shut to avoid more embarrassment, hiding her flustered expression as she watches him work. Carrots vanish into perfect pieces under the blade, his hands moving so fast she can barely track the steel.

  The cooking ends quickly, just five minutes after he sets the timer for fifteen.

  “Fifteen minutes... what are we doing? Where are you going?” Mira asks, her eyes following his every move.

  “I'm finding a spot where you can relax,” he answers, never breaking his stride.

  Mira glances toward the window. “But it’s raining.”

  “We aren’t going outside,” he says.

  He pulls open the door, and Mira immediately freezes in awe.

  The greenhouse resembles a massive, room-sized vivarium of ancient forest encased in glass. It rises from a dark brown wooden floor that extends around it, the surrounding space built to absorb heat and moisture and reduce sudden changes inside the glass enclosure. At night, it glows in the dark from the internal lights. The vibrant green moss and ferns on rotted logs and the flowing stream look magical under the warm light.

  Mira stares in awe. "Woah. This is magnificent!" Her voice trembles with excitement. "Can we go inside?"

  Adrian carries her to a glass door on the side and opens it. A wave of humid, earthy air wraps around them like a heavy blanket when he steps through the threshold. The atmosphere feels alive with the scent of damp bark. The soil gives way with a soft, muffled crunch, sounding like a sponge soaking up the weight of his steps. Long, emerald fern fronds lean toward her as she brushes past, their delicate leaves grazing her skin with a gentle, tickling touch.

  “What is this place?” Mira asks, her voice bright with excitement. “Why didn't you show me before?”

  Adrian crouches, placing her onto a lush patch of green. “My greenhouse. It’s for rare moss collection and research.”

  Near the edge of a small stream, Mira stops and points to a cluster of vertical shoots rising from the damp soil. “What is this cute thing?”

  “Polytrichum commune,” Adrian answers. “The one I asked Quillian about.”

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  “So, why the moss collection?”

  “Moss development proceeds through distinct polarity shifts,” Adrian explains. “They retain ancestral mechanisms shared with algae and early land plants.” He pauses, watching her touch the greenery. “More importantly, it’s the bridge between plant and animal systems. The way cells in plants and human neurons organize themselves follows the same basic rules. All these cells solve the same problem: how to pick one direction and keep it.”

  He gestures toward the vibrant shoots. “Moss solves it in a simple, visible way. There is less noise; you can clearly see how direction is created. Once those rules are understood here, I can check if they apply to fungi or human cells.”

  “Ancestral?” Mira asks.

  “Polytrichum has existed for nearly sixty million years,” Adrian says, leading her toward a different section of the forest. “The oldest is Takakia, over there.” He points to a patch of lime-green growths that look like branched fingers. “It has lived on Earth for four hundred million years. And the Sphagnum here has been around for over two hundred million.” His tone softens as he touches a green carpet clinging to a rotted log.

  “Millions of years? How can they last that long?”

  “They are masters of survival,” he explains. “Moss can lose almost all its water and enter suspended animation. It looks dead, but the cells are just waiting. The moment water touches them, they wake up and start growing again.”

  “Is it hard to maintain a vivarium this big?”

  “This is a loop ecosystem,” Adrian says. “I just maintain a stable climate. I check in once or twice a month.” He pauses, his voice dropping. “You have been in here for five minutes. How do you feel?”

  Mira blinks, wondering what on earth he means by “feel.” Looking at his eyes and then the sprawling forest, a shiver prickles her skin. She can practically hear the hidden words behind his calm question; he’s likely dying to have her roll from one moss patch to the next like a test subject so he can chart her heart rate. She is certain he wants her to test-drive every species to find her "perfect bed," yet somehow he manages to keep that chaotic scientist energy to himself. Shaking off the image, Mira closes her eyes and breathes in the thick air. “It feels like a real rainforest.”

  A moment later, she looks at him with doubt. “What’s with the question?”

  “Last time, you were the most relaxed around the moss. Resting near it might shorten your transformation period,” he says it at last.

  The image of her lying there, completely exposed, makes her head spin. “Adrian, um... lying here isn't exactly a great idea.”

  “I have a smaller terrarium,” he suggests. “We could bring it into the bedroom.”

  Mira practically shrieks, “Are you serious???”

  Adrian’s lips curve into a smile. “Why not? Or would you rather wait until morning?”

  Mira’s mouth hangs open for a second before she gives him a flat, unimpressed look. “What was that room from earlier?”

  “The stargazing room?”

  “Yeah, that! How do you even have a stargazing room? Just put me in there, and I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Adrian asks.

  “Surer than sure.”

  “And the moss?”

  “Next time,” she huffs. “I’ll think about it. Or if I pass out, you can do whatever you want. Just... don't make me feel like a frog.”

  Just then, the chime of the cooker rings out. They head back toward the kitchen.

  ?

  Steam drifts from the pot as Elliot leans over, tasting the soup with a wooden spoon, the lamplight soft on the patient lines of his face. The front door opens, carrying in the damp smell of rain. Emil dashes through the floor, shoes tapping against the tiles, and clings to his grandfather’s side with both arms.

  “Welcome home, kiddo,” Elliot says, his voice as warm as the kitchen itself. He sets the spoon aside, resting a hand lightly on Emil’s back.

  Noah sets his bag down by the door, closes the umbrella with a soft snap, and steps into the room. “We’re back, Grandpa.”

  “How were things at school today?” Elliot asks, reaching for the ladle.

  “Okay,” Noah answers, brushing water from his hair. “The seed project—I thought it failed, but it sprouted. Don’t know why, but… it’s good now.”

  “And tomorrow?” Elliot continues, filling a bowl for Emil.

  “We have an afternoon workshop—brain elasticity, kids and plants,” Noah replies. “Would you be able to keep Emil for me?”

  “That’s thoughtful, I’ll rearrange my meeting,” Elliot says, placing the steaming bowl before Emil. “Didn’t know Vermillion had that kind of activity now.”

  “It was Mira’s idea,” Noah explains as he takes a seat. “A good one, though.”

  At the name, Elliot pauses, then asks, as though the question has only just occurred to him. “So… the girl with silver hair?”

  “Uh—oh, yeah.” Noah rubs the back of his neck.

  Elliot chuckles, lowering himself into his chair. Then, as he can no longer hold the thought in, he asks, “Those two—Adrian and Mira—are they dating?”

  The words jolt Noah so hard he nearly chokes on his soup, spoon clattering against the bowl as he stares at his grandfather in disbelief.

  Emil blinks, gaze moving between them. “What is dating, Grandpa?” he asks, small voice filled with curiosity.

  Elliot’s hand stills for a moment, the question so innocent it pulls a laugh from him.

  He looks down at Emil, whose eyes are wide with expectation.

  “It means,” Elliot says gently, “when two people like each other so much, they choose to spend their days together—sharing meals, walking home, talking about everything and nothing. It’s when being side by side feels a little brighter than being alone.”

  Emil tilts his head, thinking hard. “Like you and Grandma?”

  Elliot smiles, the lines at his eyes deepening, and he nods. “Exactly like that.”

  Emil looks up from his bowl, spoon clutched in his small hand. “So… can we date a fairy?”

  Elliot bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking as he sets his own spoon down on the table. “And what is that, Emil?” he asks, eyes bright with amusement.

  Emil takes a sip of his soup, feet swinging under the chair, then declares with complete certainty, “Because that silver-haired girl is definitely a fairy.”

  Elliot straightens a little, resting his chin against his hand while watching the boy. “And why are you so sure?”

  Noah exhales through his nose, giving his little brother a pointed look as he sets his spoon against the bowl. “Don’t say nonsense, Emil.”

  Emil pouts, fingers curling at the rim of his bowl. “But the seed only woke up when she touched it.”

  Elliot shakes his head as he reaches for the ladle. “Is that so? Well then… I really want to see that for myself.”

  Emil, still restless with curiosity, leans forward. “So, Grandpa… if she really is a fairy, can we date her?”

  Noah groans, setting his spoon down. “Emil, that’s not how it works.”

  Grandpa smiles and gives Emil a gentle pat on the shoulder.

  “Emil… with fairies, you have to be friends first.”

  Emil blinks. “Why?”

  Grandpa leans in and whispers.

  “Because fairies are shy. If you try to date a fairy before being her friend… she’ll vanish.”

  Emil gasps. “Poof?”

  “Poof,” Grandpa nods seriously. “Like little birds.”

  Emil’s eyes light up. “Birds?”

  “Yes. If you run at them too fast, they fly away.”

  He smiles at Emil.

  “But if you sit still, and be nice, they might hop a little closer.”

  His gaze sharpens a little, turning back to Noah. “So tell me—what about those two, the Vale heir and Mira?”

  Noah blinks, caught by the sudden seriousness of the question. “Grandpa… why are you so into this?” he asks.

  Elliot only smiles, swirling his soup slowly as if enjoying the taste of his own curiosity. “Old men notice things. Humor me.”

  Noah shifts, shoulders a little tense, then sighs. “I don’t know. They don’t say anything. But… they do spend a lot of time together.”

  Emil claps his hands once, triumphant. “See! That’s dating.”

  Noah shoots Emil a look, then pauses, something clicking in his mind. His gaze turns back to Elliot. “Wait… Grandpa, didn’t you work for the Vale when you were young?”

  Elliot lifts his head slightly, thoughtful, the ladle resting idle in his hand, guarding the secret of their shared childhood. “Uhmmm… that was quite a long time ago.” He leans back, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Adrian—he looks exactly like his grandfather did when he was young.”

  The steam from the bowls curls between them, carrying a silence none of the boys quite know how to break. Noah shifts in his seat, waiting for more, but Elliot only clears his throat and nudges Emil’s bowl closer, lifting his own spoon as though the subject has already passed.