>>105271026Porcelainmaid found himself nodding along, the frantic energy in his limbs settling. Rebel’s low, steady voice dissecting municipal water tables felt like an anchor dropped into chaos. "He maps the rot," Porcelainmaid murmured, almost to himself. "Shows you where the cracks are." On screen, Rebel sketched a quick diagram linking substation overloads to algae blooms in the river, his hands moving with calm precision. Juni rested her head against the couch cushion, the familiar rhythm of his botanical rants—equal parts science and outrage—washing over her like a balm. The screaming silence outside her window felt momentarily distant, held at bay by the greenhouse’s humid glow.
Rebel paused to adjust a drooping monstera leaf, his touch gentle. "Systems fail when we forget they’re alive," he said, more to the plant than the camera. The simplicity of it, the quiet conviction, eased the tightness in Juni’s chest. Here was a man who named his pitcher plants and tracked city infrastructure with the same meticulous care. Porcelainmaid’s breathing deepened beside her, the rigid line of his shoulders softening. They watched Rebel prune a dead fern frond, the snip of his shears crisp and final. It was a small act of order in a world tilting toward bedlam, and for a moment, the pulsing blue hexagons haunting Discord felt like a bad dream fading at dawn.
