Page 62 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“This plant?”

“Two… two years. Got her as a cutting from the florist on Killigrew Street.”

“She’s massive.” Felix’s voice held genuine curiosity. “What’s this white stuff on the soil?”

“Perlite.” The word came out almost steady. Almost. “Helps with drainage. Monsteras hate wet feet.”

Felix nodded seriously, as if this was the most important information he’d ever received. He moved to the snake plant by the window, running a finger along one of the thick, upright leaves.

“And this one?”

“Sansevieria trifasciata. Mother-in-law’s tongue.” My breathing slowed fractionally. “Nearly impossible to kill. Only needs water once a month, maybe less in winter.”

“Really?” Felix picked up the pot, examining it from different angles. “Does it flower?”

“Mine did last spring. Tiny white flowers, smell like vanilla at night.” The memory brought an unexpected warmth. I’d stayed up late that evening, just breathing in that sweet scent.

Felix’s lips quirked upward. “Vanilla? My favourite.”

Fuck. Of course he’d latch onto that detail. “It’s… it’s quite subtle. Not like—” I stopped myself before I could say not like yours, which would probably send him running again.

He moved to the fiddle-leaf fig in the corner, the one I’d been nursing back to health for six months after nearly killing it with too much love and water.

“This one looks fancy.”

“Ficus lyrata. Bit of a prima donna, honestly. Hates being moved, hates drafts, hates when you look at her wrong.” I pushed myself up to sitting, the blanket still wrapped around my shoulders. “Nearly lost her last winter when the heating went out.”

“But you saved her?”

“Took her to work for a week. Set up grow lights in the weapons room. Rory thought I’d lost my mind.”

Felix laughed—a real, genuine sound that loosened the knot behind my breastbone. “Growing lights in the weapons room. That’s very you.”

Was it? I supposed it was. The need to nurture, to keep things alive and thriving. Even when I was a complete disaster at taking care of myself.

Felix wandered over to the windowsill, where my collection of succulents crowded together like a miniature desert landscape. “Do you talk to them? Your plants?”

I found myself smiling. “Sometimes. When I’m repotting or pruning. Nothing deep, just… commentary, I suppose.”

“What kind of commentary?”

“‘Hold still, you dramatic thing. Aye, I know the water’s cold.’ That sort of rubbish.” The shaking in my hands had finally stopped. “Priya says plants respond to sound vibrations, but I think she’s taking the piss.”

Felix picked up a small pot from the windowsill—my newest rescue, a half-dead pothos I’d found abandoned outside someone’s flat. “You might be able to help with something, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Christmas present for my sister. She’s managed to kill a cactus, Kit. An actual cactus.” Felix’s expression was so serious I nearly laughed. “I need something absolutely bulletproof. Something that thrives on neglect.”

“ZZ plant,” I said immediately. “Zamioculcas zamiifolia. Practically indestructible. Can go months without water, tolerates any light condition.”

“Perfect.” Felix set the pothos back down carefully. “Where would I find one?”

“There’s a good nursery in Borough Market. I could…” The offer died in my throat. I couldn’t offer to go with him. Not anymore. Not after what I’d done.

The weight of it all crashed back down. The panic attack had distracted me temporarily, but now reality reasserted itself with crushing clarity. I was leaving Killigrew Street. Leaving this life, these people. Leaving him.

The tears started before I could stop them. Hot, humiliating tears that blurred my vision and made my throat close up all over again.