Sunlight streamed through the sloping glass panels of the villa's converted greenhouse, transforming the space into a living cathedral of plants. Ferns unfurled in vivid green, orchids bloomed in delicate splashes of white and pink, and rows of seed trays bristled with fresh shoots. For Zora Su, this chamber had become both sanctuary and stage: a place where healing and observation intertwined under transparent walls.
Zora knelt beside a raised bed of young seedlings, her fingers gently brushing the tender sprouts. Each plant reminded her of her own fragile recovery—a slow, deliberate process demanding patience and care. She whispered encouragement beneath her breath, the sound of her own voice a cherished novelty.
Across the room, behind a one‑way glass partition, Sebastian Qiao watched
