Page 51 of Aïdes the Unseen
“Bathroom break?” I murmured.
But he didn’t move. His gaze shifted toward the window.
That look chilled me.
I padded barefoot across the floor and pulled back the curtain. Outside, the city was silent. No wind. No sirens. Not even the familiar groan of the subway below.
But, the ivy in the fire escape planter had grown. Not by a little. By inches. Its leaves were darker, waxy, curled inward. As if listening.
I reached toward the glass as if to touch it and it shivered. Visibly shivered.
Then— A soft knock frominsidethe wall.
I jumped.
The puppy growled, low and deliberate, ears angled toward the hallway.
Nothing. No footsteps. No creak. Just that strange thudding in my chest—not fear. Recognition.
I tried to shake it off in the kitchen. Made tea I didn’t want. The puppy followed, his steps careful, distant.
He was still watching me. Like I was the one changing. Maybe I was.
Since Skotos' visit—sinceRegrowthrecoiled for the first time—things had felt... thinner. Not broken. Just stretched. Like my nerves were far too worn away in spots.
I’d begun waking with dirt under my nails. Soil in the folds of my sheets. Dreams that lingered past waking. Most of it, I could dismiss as my imagination running amuck. Most of it.
Notall of it.
At work,the systems misfired. Biofields pulsed irregularly. Misting cycles triggered without input. Plants seemed to be listening, even when no one spoke.
I’d biked to the Annex early. Cut through the back gate to avoid the loading zone and the chatter from the education staff. The puppy leapt from the basket before I could lift him, trotted up the path like he knew it. Every day he grew stronger, more certain. His ribs had begun to vanish from regular meals.
The greenhouse loomed, veiled in dew. My breath caught. Something in the way the light hit it made it feel like stepping into memory. Inside, the air was warmer than it should’ve been. I checked the climate logs—no change. But I knew better. The air was saturated, heavy, like it had been waiting for us.
The puppy didn’t follow me through the main corridor. He walked straight towardFuture Flora.Straight toRegrowth. I hesitated, then followed. The exhibit was dark, still waking. The petals onRegrowthwere half-shut, but twitching—aware.
A ripple moved through the surrounding soil trays. Slow. Deliberate.
Not wind. Not moisture shift. Movement.
I crouched beside one of the propagation beds. New shoots had emerged overnight—broad, waxy, unfamiliar. Not part of any registered seedling I’d logged.
The soil? It was darker than it should’ve been. Thick with that forest-floor smell. Alive.
The puppy stood a few feet away, tail still, ears angled. Watching the dirt. Not barking. Just staring.
I reached down and touched the base of one new stem. It trembled beneath my fingertips. Something responded. Something beneath.
I straightened, heart thudding. Dragging out my phone, I jotted down my notes with shaking fingers. It had to be the compost interacting with some experimental mineral blend. Weird dreams or not, I knew the soil and the plants knew me.
This wasexplainable. Dreams didn’t make weird things happen, they just made it seem weird because of the hazy state between waking and sleeping. That was all. I clung to that fact.
Later, as I passed Dr. Lane near the scent-diffusion panel, he nodded in that quiet, knowing way of his. “Something’s different today,” he said.
Surprise bubbled through me. “You can feel it?”
He glanced toward the installation. “The ones who listen always can.”
