Chapter 5: Our Secret Garden
The gates creaked like they hadn't opened in years.
An iron arch wrapped in withered vines marked the entrance to a forgotten estate, once nestled on the quiet edge of the city. It was barely held together now — by rust and memory. The emblem at its peak, a silver serpent devouring its tail, gleamed faintly beneath layers of moss.
"This used to be Grant family property," Lucian murmured beside me. "Abandoned after Sophia's death."
My mother.
The name always hit like an ache that never healed. I knew her voice from recordings, her image from grainy photographs. But memories? They came in flashes. Soft. Fickle. Incomplete.
The address matched the one on the envelope I'd received two nights ago — the same letter that had no return address and simply read:
> "Come back to where you first disappeared."
So I did.
Lucian pushed the gate open slowly, and we stepped onto the overgrown path that led through trees bent like silent sentinels.
The late afternoon sun filtered through broken branches, casting jagged shadows over the old cobblestones. Somewhere nearby, a crow cawed. The world felt hushed. Heavy. Sacred.
Like the ground itself remembered me.
---
We passed a shattered fountain, choked by weeds.
I paused.
On one of the stones sat the remains of a painted tile — a lily. Blue and white.
"She brought me here once," I said softly.
Lucian turned to me. "You remember that?"
I nodded slowly. "I must have been four. Maybe younger."
I knelt beside the fountain and touched the tile.
"She called it our secret garden. Said it was the only place left that the world hadn't corrupted."
Lucian didn't speak, but his eyes were locked on me.
I could feel it.
The intensity.
The knowing.
The way he looked at me when I wasn't watching.
I stood up, brushing dust from my fingers.
"I thought it was a dream. The swing set. The lilies. Her voice humming something soft. But it was real."
"She was hiding you," Lucian said. "Even then."
---
We reached the main house — or what remained of it.
The estate was three stories of rotted beams and shattered windows. A staircase twisted like a broken spine from the veranda to the second floor, where curtains fluttered in the breeze like ghosts refusing to let go.
The front door was slightly ajar.
Lucian drew closer. "Let me go first."
I didn't argue.
The door groaned as he pushed it open.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mildew and charred wood. The wallpaper had peeled away in sheets, revealing old newsprint and insulation. In the living room, a fireplace stood blackened, above which hung the rusted outline of what was once a portrait.
And in the corner… something small.
A child's stool.
Pink.
Untouched by fire or time.
I stepped forward slowly.
My breath caught in my throat.
Lucian followed.
He said nothing, but I felt his presence — a quiet shadow at my back.
"I sat there," I whispered. "She used to read me stories right here. Fairytales. Greek myths. She always called me her Persephone."
Lucian stiffened behind me.
I turned.
"What?"
"She used that name with you?"
I nodded. "All the time."
He looked away. "Persephone wasn't just the program. It was her code word. The signal that something was wrong."
---
We explored the lower floors carefully. Most of it had caved in, but in the basement we found a hidden alcove behind a crumbled wine rack.
Lucian pushed the shelf aside, revealing a narrow tunnel carved into the earth, supported by beams and reinforced with steel.
We exchanged a look.
Then entered.
The tunnel led to a small underground room. A hidden study.
Preserved.
Untouched.
On the desk were scattered journals, sketches, and a lockbox with my mother's initials: S.G.
Lucian tried the lock. It didn't budge.
"It needs a code."
I looked at the dusty frame beside it — a picture of her holding a baby. Me.
Beneath the photo was the date: April 4th — my birthday.
I tried 0404.
Click.
Inside: old tapes, microfilm, and a worn leather book.
Lucian pulled the book out carefully and opened the first page.
In my mother's handwriting:
> "If they ever find this place, they'll destroy everything. But if you find it, Ava… that means you're still alive."
---
We sat there on the floor of the underground room, reading page after page.
Notes about the Dawson family. Documents about falsified birth records. Details about neurologic modification trials — entries on Lily. On me.
One page had been torn out.
Only a fragment remained, ink smudged with water:
> "They took a piece of her when she resisted. She bit the wire out. Screamed until the walls cracked. I knew then — they couldn't control her. They'd try again. With another. But not my daughter."
My throat closed.
"She meant me," I said.
Lucian nodded.
"She saved me before they could finish. Hid me inside the very house they thought she'd forsaken."
I looked around the room.
"She built this place… to leave something behind."
"To leave you behind," he corrected. "Not as a victim. But as the only one strong enough to end it."
---
The next morning, back at Grant Tower, I stood in front of the window watching the city wake.
Lucian placed the leather book on my desk.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
I nodded.
"We expose everything. Not just the files. The names. The experiments. The pattern. We drag it all into the light."
Naomi entered with a coffee and the latest press scans.
"She's planning an interview," she said.
"Lily?"
Naomi nodded. "Tomorrow night. Prime time. She wants to tell 'her side of the story.'"
I smirked.
"She wants to control the narrative."
Lucian looked at me. "So we steal it first."
---
That evening, I returned alone to the garden.
The air was still. The wind gentler this time.
I walked past the tile, past the fountain, and sat on the mossy bench where I knew she used to sit.
From my coat pocket, I pulled the one thing I had left from the hidden room: a key. Engraved with the letter P.
Persephone.
A vault key, Lucian suspected.
To what, we didn't yet know.
But we would.
Soon.
I closed my eyes and listened.
And for the first time, I heard it clearly.
My mother's voice.
> "This garden isn't just a secret, Ava. It's a sanctuary. And sanctuaries… are meant to be protected."
---
[End of Chapter 5 ]