The greenhouse hummed quietly around them.
Sunlight filtered through the curved glass ceiling overhead, turning the moisture gathered on the panes into scattered points of light. Vines climbed black metal trellises. Orchids bloomed from elevated terraces. Warm air carried the scent of damp soil and growing things. Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily through part of the irrigation system.
Tansy rested on the meridienne near the center of the greenhouse.
The blanket from the examination floor had slipped partially from her shoulders.
Galathea Brooks adjusted it without thinking.
The movement had become automatic.
Tansy looked pale against the cream-colored upholstery. The dark pigment beneath her skin still moved in slow currents beneath her wrists and forearms. Not as violently as before. Not yet.
Galathea hated looking at it.
Mostly because she couldn't stop.
"This place feels different," Tansy murmured.
Galathea glanced up. "Better or worse?"
