Page 62 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“Even love can be poison,”Grandma’s voice reminds me.“If you’re not careful about how you brew it.”

I’m starting to think I was never careful enough at all.

The crash of breaking glass shatters the moment. Gregory’s angry voice echoes through the halls like thunder before a storm. “Someone tripped the alarm! It’s a setup!”

Chaos erupts, and in that split second, I know I have to choose. Grandma’s voice whispers:“Every garden needs pruning, child. The trick is knowing which blooms to sacrifice.”

“Stay here,” I tell Ethan, my hand against his chest. His heart pounds under my palm, strong and steady, everything I’m not. “I’ll handle this.”

“Don’t go, Celeste.” The raw emotion in his voice nearly breaks me. “God help me, I should arrest you right now, but I can’t... I need to understand why.”

“The sweetest poisons are the ones we choose to swallow,”Grandma would say. Looking at Ethan now, I understand exactly what she meant.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, then slip away before love can make me weak. His curse follows me down the hallway, but I don’t look back. Can’t look back.

The main gallery spreads before me like Grandma’s garden at midnight—full of beauty and danger in equal measure. Gregory stands in the center, barking orders at his fleeing men. When he turns and sees me, recognition crawls across his face like kudzu.

“You,” he snarls, voice dripping venom. “I should have known. You think you can stop me? I’ve got half the city in my pocket, sweetheart.”

His arrogance fuels something dark inside me, something that’s been growing since Sarah died, fed by rage and watered with tears. I hear Ethan enter behind me, but this moment isn’t about him. This is about justice. About vengeance. About becoming the monster needed to fight monsters.

Gregory raises his gun. Time slows like sap in winter. I move as Grandma taught me, fluid as water hemlock spreading through a stream. His bullet whispers past my ear as I close the distance between us. I drop into a roll, coming up inside his guard. A quick strike to his wrist sends the gun clattering to the floor.

But Gregory isn’t going down without a fight. He lashes out, his fist catching me in the ribs. Pain explodes in my side, stealing my breath. I grunt but don’t let it slow me down. We grapple,trading blows, each of us fighting for dominance. The world narrows to this moment, this dance of violence and retribution.

Each blow exchanged carries the weight of choices made and paths chosen. His fist finds my ribs, stealing my breath. But pain is an old friend now, bitter medicine I’ve learned to swallow. Gregory is stronger than I anticipated, his desperation making him a formidable opponent. Each blow that lands feels like it might be the one to end me, but I refuse to give in. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to fail now.

I’m vaguely aware of Ethan shouting, his voice hoarse with fear and anger, of Gregory’s men fleeing. But my world has narrowed to this one fight. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed, it all comes down to this moment.

Gregory manages to get his hands around my throat, squeezing. His fingers are like iron bands, cutting off my air. The edges of my vision begin to darken, the world fading to a pinpoint. With the last of my strength, I reach for the small blade concealed in my boot.

“Some roots run too deep to pull,”Grandma’s voice echoes as I reach for my concealed blade.“Sometimes you have to cut them out.”

The knife slides between his ribs like it belongs there. His eyes widen with shock, with understanding, with fear. “This is for Sarah,” I whisper, the words a prayer, a curse, a promise fulfilled.

His look of shock burns in my mind.

As his body crumples to the floor, the weight of what I’ve done crashes over me like a wave. I stagger back, the bloodied knife falling from trembling fingers. The sound it makes hitting marble echoes through the gallery like a final heartbeat.

“Celeste.”

Ethan’s voice pulls me back from the abyss. I turn to face him, seeing my own reflection in his eyes—both the womanhe loved and the killer I’ve become. The sirens growing louder outside are a countdown to the end of everything.

“Even the deadliest garden can bloom again,”Grandma’s wisdom whispers.“If you’re willing to let it be pruned.”

I collapse into Ethan’s arms, letting him catch me as I fall. His embrace is everything I don’t deserve but desperately need. “I’m so sorry,” I sob into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

His arms tighten around me as the room fills with police and FBI agents. I cling to him, no longer playing a part but genuinely seeking shelter in the eye of this storm. For the first time since Sarah died, I don’t want to run.

But as Grandma always said,“The most dangerous poisons are the ones we brew ourselves.”Looking up at Ethan through tear-blurred eyes, I know my next move will either save us both or destroy everything.

I’m still deciding which when I feel the cold kiss of handcuffs against my wrist.

“Agent Blake,” Detective Reeves’ gruff voice cuts through the moment like a machete through morning glory. “Step away from the suspect.”

The wordsuspecthits me like a physical blow. Is that all I am now? All I’ll ever be to him? Grandma’s voice whispers:“Labels are like garden markers, child. They tell you what to expect, but not what might grow.”

Ethan’s arms loosen, but don’t fully release me. I feel his hesitation in the tremor of his muscles, the stutter of his breath. Professional duty warring with personal feelings. “She acted in self-defense,” he says, voice steady despite everything. “I witnessed the whole thing.”

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