With his hands on his hips, he spins away, and I watch his shoulders heave, feeling the heat of his frustration burning the backs of my eyes.

Willow and I allow him a moment to stew in his anger as we trade worried glances. Our brother has always been our rock. Our safe place to land when life in Nostraza became too much.

He looks up and keeps pacing as a tear drips from the end of his nose. He sniffles and wipes it away. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen my brother come undone.

Willow and I exchange another look that becomes a silent signal, and we both move, planting ourselves on either side of him. He stops short when he realizes I’m in his way.

“What—”

I throw my arms around his waist, and Willow does the same from behind. It takes him a moment to realize what we’re doing, but when he does, he curls into us and just . . . lets go.

I feel the drain of his heart. The strain in his sobs. The release of a thousand emotions and worries and hurts he’s been burying for a very long time.

We clutch one another, holding on in this ruined place that should have been our home. Willow and I start crying too, the sound of our sorrow echoing in the dusty, forgotten corners of Heart.

But then the strangest thing happens.

It takes me a moment to notice it. It’s an odd sound—something stretching and squeezing, snapping and crackling like twigs underfoot. And then I see it. Vines covered in rosebuds creep across the ground like snakes, stretching towards us. The sight should be alarming, but something tells me we have nothing to worry about.

They crawl closer, then stop a few feet away and peel off the ground. Tristan and Willow have noticed now, and we all pull apart. More vines climb up the pillars around the room and up every wall, coating them in curtains of green. They continue climbing, stretching over the ceiling, filling every corner and every recess.

The vines around us form an arch over our heads, and then everything starts to bloom. Buds expand over every inch of the vine, unfurling in scarlet bursts, petals spreading out like they’re greeting the morning sun.

They open in a wave until we’re surrounded—until every surface is a blooming tapestry of brilliant red roses. Tristan, Willow, and I stare at each other wide-eyed, unable to comprehend the sight.

It’s then I notice another vine creeping across the floor, inching towards Willow. She inhales a sharp breath, but I’m still sure that no one needs to be afraid.

Slowly, it crawls closer and then gently winds its way around her ankle.

“Lor,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I think it’s okay.”