“You want *what*?" Captain Varek barked.
Eileen stood before his desk, holding a neat list written in tight script.
“Access to the *south greenhouse*?" he scoffed. “That place is condemned."
She held her ground, gaze lowered but posture unyielding.
“What for? Collecting frostbite? Or planning something clever?"
She added a second sheet—inventory notes showing dwindling medicinal herbs.
He squinted. “Moonleaf? Ferro-moss? What are you, a court chemist?"
Silence.
He huffed. “Fine. Freeze if you want. Guards won't follow you in there."
She bowed and turned to go.
Behind her, he muttered, “Creeping around like a ghost. One of these days, girl, you'll slip."
She didn't pause.
—
The greenhouse had once been beautiful.
Now, its glass dome sagged inward like the ribs of a dead beast,
