Chapter 43

The garden at RAPS was something out of a dream, all twisting vines and neatly trimmed hedges that looked like they had been coaxed into perfection by hands far more delicate than hers. Roses bloomed in colors she could only describe as magical—soft blues and gold-tipped whites that didn't seem possible back on the farm. There was a fountain in the center, its gentle bubbling sound filling the air like a lullaby.

And yet, for all its splendor, it wasn't what held Q's attention.

No, what caught her was how familiar it felt.

She walked slowly, her heels crunching against the gravel path, glancing at every flowerbed as though they held whispers of another time. Her fingers brushed the petals of a bright yellow rose, soft and cool to the touch, and a memory slipped into her mind like a leaf carried by the wind.