A soft breeze drifted through the half-open window, carrying the scent of morning dew and fresh earth. The new apartment stood on the outskirts of the city, nestled in a quiet crescent far from the noise of the city. Here, the air felt less suffocating. Less… haunted.
Lysandra stood barefoot in the living room, surrounded by unopened boxes and half-levitating furniture. Her long hair was tied in a lazy braid, a smudge of dust on her cheek as she held a potted herb in one hand and a ward crystal in the other.
She sighed and muttered, "Well… at least the sun reaches the garden here."
It wasn't fancy. The kitchen tiles were a little outdated, and the walls could use a bit of color—but the space was wide, clean, and private. Most importantly… it was hidden. Safe.
No more tension.
No more bites that seared her skin and made her forget how to breathe.
No more Caveen.
She bent down to arrange a row of spell-woven lavender pots near the window when her phone vibrated across the countertop. The sudden buzz startled her.
She grabbed it.
Elias.
Her heart skipped.
She hadn't expected him to call—not so soon. Not today.
She inhaled slowly and answered, trying to sound casual.
"Hey…"
His voice came through, clear and warm as always. "Lys?"
"Yeah… what's up?"
"I… I went to your apartment this morning. You weren't there. Your landlord said you moved."
Her stomach tightened.
There was a beat of silence before he added quietly, "You didn't even tell me."
Lysandra bit her lip and looked down at the jade-green tile beneath her bare feet.
"I'm sorry. It was a sudden decision."
"Are you okay?" Elias's voice held that subtle edge of worry he always had when it came to her. "I thought something happened."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter. She couldn't tell him the truth—not about Caveen. Not about the mark, the kiss, the haunting pull that made her feel like she was drowning again.
So she forced a small smile into her voice.
"No, I'm fine. I just… wanted a bigger place."
"Bigger?" he asked, surprised.
"Mhm," she said. "With a garden. Somewhere quieter. I was getting tired of the city. Thought I could grow something. Herbs, vegetables. Keep my hands busy. I needed a change."
Elias let out a soft chuckle, the tension in his voice melting just a bit. "You and your plants… Always so earthy."
"I take that as a compliment," she teased softly, grateful for the shift in tone.
"Well, I was worried, Lys. Don't do that again. Disappear without telling me."
"I won't," she whispered. "I promise."
He paused.
"I can visit, right? Your new place?"
Lysandra hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the layered wards surrounding her doorway. The idea of anyone stepping into her new safe space made her stomach twist—but she didn't want to shut Elias out completely.
"…Maybe once I settle in," she said gently. "It's still a mess here."
"Alright. Just let me know if you need anything. I can help."
"Thanks, Elias. Really."
"Anytime."
They hung up, and Lysandra stood there a while longer, her phone pressed against her chest.
---
Later that Afternoon
She called work and requested a short leave. The apartment needed attention, and honestly, so did she.
She needed time.
Time to shake off the weight of everything she'd been holding in.
Time to breathe without her body remembering Caveen's hands.
With sleeves rolled, she began unpacking.
She hung sheer curtains over wide windows, placed warded plants along the sill, and lit a circle of protection salt around her bed. Her garden outside was just a small patch of green, but she could already imagine tulsi, rosemary, and healing marigold growing in neat little rows.
Here, she would find her peace.
She would rebuild herself.
Even if her heart still ached, even if every corner of her soul still whispered his name in the quiet…
She would not be waiting anymore.
---
Meanwhile, miles away…
Caveen stood in front of her old apartment.
The landlord had confirmed what his senses already knew—she was gone. Moved. Vanished like mist.
He stood there, jaw tight, hands in his coat pockets as the cold wind swept around him.
---
Back at the Garden Apartment
Lysandra sat on her porch steps as twilight fell. Fireflies blinked in the growing darkness. She cradled a mug of tea between her palms, staring at the garden bed she'd begun preparing.
"I'll grow again," she whispered to herself. "Just like these seeds."
It wasn't a declaration of war.
It was a promise to herself.
To bloom again—even after the storm Caveen left in his wake.