Night in Oakhaven was not dark. The glass domes reflected the moonlight and the glow of the mana-lamps, turning the city into a shimmering jewel box of silver and white.
In the shadows of Sector 4, however, the lights were dead.
This section of the Royal Gardens had been abandoned years ago, allegedly due to a fungal outbreak, but Mirabelle knew the truth: the King simply preferred order, and the wild, tangled growth of the old greenhouse offended him.
"This place smells like wet socks," Revas whispered.
They were crouched behind a wall of overgrown ivy, staring at the skeletal remains of the Sector 4 Greenhouse. The glass panels were cracked, moss creeping over the iron frames like green rust.
"It smells like memories," Mirabelle corrected, adjusting the collar of her dark stealth-suit—a modified version of her riding habit with the heavy velvet skirt ripped away to allow movement.
