The next morning, Eren woke to the sound of a pan clattering in the kitchen. His head ached, his body heavy, but the faint whisper from the fern still echoed in his mind.
Closer.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The mark on his arm hadn't faded overnight—it was redder, angrier now, as though the vine's touch had burrowed deeper instead of healing.
When he trudged downstairs, his mom was at the stove, humming absently while flipping eggs. The smell of toast and butter clung to the air.
"You're up late," she said without turning. "Didn't hear your alarm."
"Didn't sleep much," Eren muttered, sliding into a chair.
His mom finally looked at him—and frowned. "You're pale. And—what is that?" She gestured with the spatula at his arm.
He tugged his sleeve down too late. "Just… scratch."
"From where?"
"The greenhouse," he said before thinking.
Her brows furrowed. "Eren, I told you not to play around there. That place isn't safe. It's rotting apart. You'll get tetanus before you get anything useful out of it."
"I wasn't playing," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Nothing," he added quickly, biting into toast to stop himself. His mom sighed, clearly unconvinced, but she didn't push further.
Instead, she slid a plate in front of him. "Eat. You look like you've been chewed up and spit out."
Not far from the truth, he thought grimly.
---
School felt even more suffocating than usual. The classrooms seemed too bright, the chatter too sharp, the normalcy grating. After what he'd seen in the garden, this place felt like paper scenery.
At lunch, Talia slammed her tray onto the table across from him so hard his milk carton toppled over.
"You look like death warmed over," she announced.
"Thanks. Great to see you too."
"I'm serious. Did you sleep at all?"
"Barely."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because she kept talking to you, didn't she?"
Eren froze, the fry halfway to his mouth. "…Yeah."
Talia groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Of course. Of course this is my life now. You're haunted by a voice from a carnivorous garden, and I'm the idiot who stuck around long enough to witness it."
"She's real," Eren said, sharper than intended.
Talia peeked at him between her fingers. "You can't know that."
"I do. Last night wasn't just noise in my head—it was her. She's reaching out, somehow. Like the garden is… leaking into everything else."
"That doesn't make it better!" she hissed. "That makes it worse. If it can reach outside, what stops it from—" She gestured wildly, nearly smacking a kid walking past. "I don't know—taking over the football field or strangling the cafeteria lady?"
"Then it's already too late," he muttered.
Talia dropped her fry like it offended her. "You're insane."
"Maybe." His gaze hardened. "But I'm not wrong."
She slumped back in her chair, arms crossed. "Fine. When the vines strangle us in our sleep, don't say I didn't warn you."
Despite the weight in his chest, he almost smiled.
---
That evening, he cut through the park on his way home. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky violet. Kids shouted by the swings, a dog barked somewhere, joggers passed with earbuds in.
Normal. Safe.
Until he saw the fountain.
The water trickled lazily as always, but for a moment—just a moment—it shimmered silver, like moonlight had touched it. Flowers bloomed in the cracks of the stone, glowing faintly, then folding back in on themselves as if embarrassed by their own existence.
Eren stopped cold. His breath hitched.
Nobody else noticed. A couple strolled past, arguing about groceries. A kid tossed bread crumbs to ducks. No one even glanced at the impossible blooms.
Closer, the voice breathed.
He whipped his head around. Nothing. Just laughter and footsteps.
His heart hammered as he forced himself to keep walking. But he knew what he'd seen. The garden was following him now—stretching fingers into the ordinary world.
---
That night, he tried to distract himself with homework, but the numbers blurred together. His pencil scratched without focus, until he realized he'd drifted into doodling vines curling around the margins of his math sheet.
Frustrated, he shoved it aside and reached for his notebook.
Only—when he opened it, his stomach dropped.
The first page was filled with writing. Not his. Thin, delicate script curled across the paper, shimmering faintly like it was written in dew.
> The garden does not forget. Every step forward leaves a mark. Every whisper has roots. Do not turn away now, or you will never find me.
Eren's hands trembled. He flipped the page. More words, in the same hand. Drawings, too—sketches of flowers he didn't recognize, but felt he should. A map, maybe, with lines that twisted like stems.
And at the bottom of the third page:
> Closer.
His throat tightened. He snapped the notebook shut like it had burned him.
The fern on his windowsill rustled though the air was still.
---
He didn't remember falling asleep, but sometime past midnight, a tapping pulled him back awake.
At first, he thought it was the notebook itself. But then—another tap. Against the glass.
Eren sat up sharply. Talia's face was pressed against his window, her hair wild, eyes wide.
He nearly fell out of bed scrambling to open it. "What the hell are you doing? It's midnight!"
She hauled herself through, tripping on the sill and nearly faceplanting. "You weren't answering your phone."
"Because I was asleep!"
"You don't get to sleep while your plants are whispering and your arm looks like it's rotting." She grabbed his wrist, shoving his sleeve up.
The mark was worse—angry red, veins around it faintly darkening like ink spreading under skin.
Talia swore under her breath. "Yeah, nope. That's not normal. That's not even remotely human-normal."
Eren yanked his arm back, covering it. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine! You're being eaten alive or cursed or something, and you're still acting like this is some epic fantasy quest instead of—" She broke off, pacing his room. "I shouldn't even be here. My mom's going to kill me. But I couldn't sleep either, and all I kept thinking was—you're going to get yourself swallowed, and I'm going to be stuck explaining to the police why my best friend turned into plant food."
Her voice cracked on the last words.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the creak of the old house. Then Eren said quietly:
"You still came."
Talia froze, back to him. Slowly, she turned. "Of course I came. You're my idiot."
A smile tugged at his mouth despite everything.
But then the fern twitched again. Harder. Leaves brushing against the glass though the window was shut.
Both of them stared.
And in the silence, the whisper came, clearer than ever, brushing through the air like breath.
Closer.
Eren and Talia locked eyes, neither daring to speak.
Because whatever this was, it wasn't staying in the garden anymore.
It was here.
And it wasn't letting go.