Half-truths were dangerous because they could survive longer than lies.
A lie had one job: avoid discovery.
A half-truth had ambition.
It wanted to become a bridge.
Or a trap.
I met Seraphina in the old medicinal conservatory because every other room had too many claims. The recovery room belonged to observation protocols. The Healing Hall belonged to Church scrutiny. The tactical classrooms belonged to Malcris's "counseling" schedule. The chapel belonged to people who thought mercy required approval.
The conservatory belonged mostly to plants.
Better company.
Glass panels rose overhead, blurred with rain. Rows of silverleaf, fevermint, moon aloe, and bloodroot grew in controlled beds. Elara had placed three harmless vines near the door and one not-harmless vine near the upper vent.
She had not called it a guard.
Plants, like assassins, benefited from modesty.
Seraphina arrived without Brother Caldus.
I looked behind her.
