Veridian Bloom

The rain tasted like ash tonight, another cleansing ritual the city wouldn't notice. They never do.
My contact called it a 'growth,' a nexus of unusual energy blooming in the forgotten parts of Oldtown – specifically, the greenhouse district. Said someone was coaxing things to *live* where they shouldn’t. My kind doesn't concern ourselves with such matters, but he also mentioned a certain Gardener, one who tended these strange roots.
He wasn’t lying about the heat. Stepping inside felt like walking into a forgotten summer. The air, thick and sweet, clung to my skin – an unwelcome sensation I hadn’t experienced in years. Then I saw him, bathed in the soft glow of grow lamps, hands tracing the delicate veins of a flowering vine.
He didn't flinch when I appeared, merely turned with eyes the color of rich soil. 'You shouldn't be here,' he said, voice a low murmur that resonated through the humid air. A warning? An invitation?
I found myself drawn to him, compelled by an ancient instinct I thought long dormant. This wasn’t just about energy signatures or rogue cultivators; it was something…older.
The Syndicate underestimates me if they think I don't recognize a power shift when I feel it. And the warmth in his gaze... that’s not sunlight.

Editor: Shadow Syndicate