As I stepped inside, the difference was immediate—stark, undeniable.
If Alpha Jack’s office had been a manifestation of control and precision, then Celeste’s was the complete opposite—overflowing with life, knowledge, and quiet chaos.
Plants spilled from every corner, twisting toward the ceiling, curling around bookshelves, winding around furniture like they had grown alongside the magic that thrived here. Jars lined the walls, filled with ingredients I didn’t recognize—herbs, dried flowers, tiny vials of liquid that shimmered in the dim light.
And books. Endless books.
They weren’t neatly arranged like Jack’s, weren’t sorted by category or stacked with military precision. No—they lived in this space, scattered across tables, wedged between planters, piled beside quills and parchment,
