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L ewis gripped Vivienne’s hand, guiding her down the winding path to the greenhouse. As he opened the door and led her through, her panic shattered the fragile silence. The moment she stepped inside, it rushed out of her in gasping, uneven breaths. She paced wildly, hands clutching at her tear-streaked cheeks.

A storm of frantic thoughts battered her mind, each one louder, more frenzied than the last. Her chest constricted, her heartbeat pounding in a desperate, erratic rhythm. The air refused to reach her lungs. Am I dying?

"I can’t breathe," she panted.

Her fingers tore at the bodice, nails digging into the laces as if she could rip the air back into her lungs.

"I can’t breathe!" She yanked at the fabric, desperation turning to blind panic. "Lewis, get this thing off me!" Her voice cracked, raw and terrified.

Lewis rushed forward, hands fumbling at the ties, but the knots were too tight—it would take too long to unlace. He hesitated only a second before grabbing the pruning shears from the worktable. With one expert slice, he cut through the laces. The bodice slackened instantly, falling to the ground in a heap.

Vivienne collapsed against the table, her arms braced against the wood as she sucked in great, shuddering breaths. Tears continued their slow descent, streaking her flushed skin. Then, her knees gave way. She slid down against the table’s edge, slumping to the cool stone floor, grateful the ground had finally stopped spinning.

Lewis stood frozen, still gripping the shears, his knuckles white. His mouth parted as if searching for words, but none came.

Vivienne wrapped her arms around her knees, tucking herself into the smallest space possible. Her voice, when it finally came, was a broken whisper. "I can’t do this."

Lewis set the shears down with a soft clink before lowering himself beside her. His voice was gentle. "Which part, Viv?"

She gave a hollow laugh, pressing her forehead against her knees. "All of the parts."

"It’s a lot." Lewis nodded, absorbing the weight of her concern. "We’ll figure this out," he assured, though his voice held the faintest tremor.

"Figure it out?" She lifted her head just enough to stare at him. "How, Lewis? Everything is unraveling, and every time I try to fix something, it falls apart faster."

He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound formed. Lewis planted a warm hand on her knee.

Vivienne’s voice wavered. "My parents are still missing and they might be…"

She couldn’t finish the thought. Neither of them could. The unspoken word pressed between them, heavy and suffocating.

"And the only chance we have of finding them is…" She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and broken. "Going on some ridiculous mission to break a fictional curse while racing against a crew of criminals."

"Things have… escalated quickly," Lewis admitted, adjusting his spectacles..

"To top it off," Vivienne scoffed, "I’m supposed to raise my cousin, who I haven’t even had time to talk to yet—after we’re evicted from our home, if I even survive this asinine quest."

Lewis pressed his lips together, his silence giving her more space.

"Briar comes back tomorrow," she whispered, her voice barely more than air. "And I have to drop all of this on her… and then leave the next morning. It’s not fair."

"It’s not," he agreed, his eyebrows knit together.

Vivenne’s throat tightened. "Lewis, what happens to her if I don’t come back?" She searched his face, hoping for an answer—hoping he would tell her something, anything, that made this feel less impossible.

His jaw tightened and uncertainty clouded his gaze. "Ever since King Berius cut the funding, I’m not sure what the care program for orphans looks like anymore."

Vivienne exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead to her knees. The dam broke again, silent tears spilling onto her dress. "I’ve been her guardian for less than a day, and I’ve already failed her."

Lewis’ grip on her tightened. "You listen to me, Viv."

She lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze.

"You have never failed at anything in your life. And this is not going to be the thing that tarnishes your spotless record."

Vivienne sniffled.

Fear flashed over Lewis’ features before he cloaked it with optimism. "I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But you’re not alone. We’ll do this together—like we’ve done everything for the past twenty plus years."

The greenhouse fell silent, save for the sound of Vivienne’s breath evening out. Lewis reached into his waistcoat and pressed a crumpled handkerchief into her palm. The fabric was high quality but terribly stitched—edges uneven, seams crooked. A clumsy embroidered leaf sat in one corner, barely identifiable.

She recognized it instantly.

Her first and last attempt at sewing. A gift she’d given him years ago. Vivienne lifted her head, resting it against Lewis’ shoulder. She breathed in his familiar scent—fresh earth, cedar, and something uniquely him. Her heartbeat finally slowed.

"This curse can’t be real, right?" she murmured, rubbing the handkerchief’s thinning material between her fingers.

Lewis let out a sputtering laugh. "I mean… after meeting the King, I kind of want to curse him myself. He’s very cursable."

A small, wobbly smile broke through. Vivienne shook her head, "I can’t believe you’re coming with me."

"Yeah, that was a major surprise." He chuckled, resting his head against hers. "But we’re a package deal." He tilted his face, smirking. "And the King was very clear, you can’t sail without your plant boy."

Vivienne huffed out a laugh. "I thought you preferred plant man?"

Lewis grinned. "I’ll work my way up to it."

Vivienne let her eyes wander around the greenhouse. She had been too consumed by panic to take it in before. The interior differed from the artistic royal gardens, everything here favored function over form. Long wooden tables lined the space, crowded with pots in various stages of growth. A small workbench in the far corner overflowed with notebooks, dried herbs, and plant samples.

She exhaled. "I get why you love it here."

Lewis smiled softly.

The greenhouse door lurched open. A stocky, balding man froze mid-step.

Sunlight glinted off his forehead as his eyes darted between them—Vivienne slumped on the floor, head against Lewis’ shoulder… and her discarded bodice. A horrified expression overtook his features. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked straight out.

Lewis and Vivienne looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“I can’t wait to explain this to my boss.” Lewis chuckled, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. He stood, offering her a hand. "All these life-altering events have made me hungry. Pastries?"

Vivienne rubbed her fingers over her tired eyes. "No."

His gaze narrowed in suspicion.

"I want a drink."

* * *

The Pelican Tavern on a Friday night was the pulse of Vantner, a place where worries drowned in ale and laughter swelled louder than the crashing tide. Vivienne carried her burdens inside with her, dragging them like an anchor.

The tavern was packed wall to wall. Sailors fresh off the docks clinked mugs in raucous celebration, merchants exchanged tall tales over half-eaten meals, and the people of Vantner wove through the chaos, eager to leave the week’s troubles behind.

Vivienne and Lewis navigated through the dense crowd, their shoulders brushing against strangers, laughter and shouts pressing in from every direction. The scent of roasted meat, sea salt, and stale ale thickened the air.

Vivienne welcomed the deafening hum of voices and clattering mugs. It filled the space in her mind that had been overrun with dread. She had talked enough for a lifetime today. Tonight, she only wanted silence—or the next best thing.

A wrinkled sailor with a gnarled beard and a grin full of gaps leaned in from the next table, raising a bushy brow.

"You’ve had three rounds already, lass,” he hollered over the noise, his voice as rough as sea-worn wood. “Bad day?"

Vivienne tilted her mug toward him. "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

The sailor chuckled, blue eyes sharp with curiosity. “Try me.”

She took a long sip, then set the mug down with a dull thud.

"The short version?" she said, voice dry as kindling. "My parents are probably dead, and now I have to sail around the world to break a curse. If I fail, I lose everything and everyone— and might be executed for treason."

The sailor’s weathered face barely flickered, as if he had heard worse. He studied her a moment, then nodded with an approving grunt.

“Good enough for me.” He slammed his fist against the table. "Lads!" he bellowed. "Her parents are probably dead!"

A chorus of boos erupted around them, loud enough to startle Lewis mid-drink.

"Let’s keep those drinks coming!" the sailor declared, raising his mug.

And they did. Vivienne and Lewis didn’t pay for another drink the entire night. Each round blurred the edges of her thoughts, muffled the gnawing fears. The weight in her chest eased, if only for a little while.

As the hours stretched, the tavern’s energy crackled. The musicians struck up a lively tune, strings and tambourines weaving a rhythm that sent braver patrons spinning into wild dances, boots stomping between scattered tables. Voices grew louder, mugs crashed together in toasts, and the world around her spun in a haze of movement, music, and free-flowing ale.