The courtyard was quiet.
New saplings stood along the walkways, roots tentative but determined. Flora watched as a child—someone else's daughter—touched a leaf gently, then ran toward the light.
She and Richard stood near the entrance, where red brick met restored glass. Above them, the sign shimmered faintly in morning light:
**The Lucy Initiative Wing.**
For once, Flora wasn't rushing anywhere.
---
“You ever think about what's next?" Richard asked, hands tucked in his pockets.
“All the time," she replied. “I just don't feel the need to name it anymore."
He nodded. “That's fair."
They stood in comfortable silence.
Then he asked it, softly.
“Do you want to keep walking forward? Together?"
Not a proposal.
Not a rescue.
Not a promise wrapped in pressure.
Just a question.
Flor
