She moved deeper into the greenhouse, leaving Mira standing beside the citrus trees looking like someone who'd been handed an assignment they hadn't expected and wasn't entirely sure whether to be challenged or pleased.
Both, William thought, watching her. She looked both.
Thomas had moved toward a section of the greenhouse where herbs grew in dense, fragrant clusters, his posture carrying the relaxed attention of someone finding, in the warmth and smell of a growing space, something unexpectedly restorative. He touched a rosemary branch and the scent released, sharp and clarifying, and William watched his face change slightly — not dramatically, just a small settling, the specific quality of someone whose nervous system had just received something it needed.
