Chapter 2

The air in the greenhouse was always damp, filled with a comforting, earthy scent, but it clearly wasn't enough to ease the deep scowl on Inspector Thorne's face.

Compared to the hot-headed Silas, this gray-haired veteran was visibly more composed.

Instead of storming in like Silas did, he browsed the flowers for a solid ten minutes like any regular older customer before finally taking a seat at my tea table.

"Darjeeling tea, no sugar, right?"

I expertly poured him a cup, the rising steam blurring the space between us.

"Your memory is always spot on, Isolde."

Inspector Thorne picked up his cup but didn't take a sip, fixing his cloudy, all-seeing eyes on me instead.

"The crime scene at Cassius's place was sickeningly clean."

"No fingerprints, no footprints, not even a single sign of forced entry."

"The security system was bypassed with extreme precision; it was like the killer appeared out of thin air and vanished just as fast."

I gently blew the steam off my teacup.

"Sounds like you're dealing with a true professional."

"What's more terrifying is that the killer seemed to know Cassius's habits inside out."

Inspector Thorne set his teacup down and let out a heavy sigh.

"Cassius had severe claustrophobia, and the killer didn't just shove him into a compactor—they planted a micro-speaker inside it, looping the exact laughter caught on his dashcam when he ran over that little girl."

My hand holding the teacup paused for a fraction of a second, before I took a casual sip as if nothing had happened.

"He got what he deserved, didn't he?"

"The law doesn't allow for vigilantism, Isolde."

Inspector Thorne's voice suddenly turned stern.

"If we turn a blind eye to this eye-for-an-eye violence, this city will turn into a living hell."

"But Inspector, for old man Finnick, this city has been a living hell for a long time."

I set my teacup down and looked him dead in the eye.

"When a crystal-clear chain of evidence is slowly erased, when eyewitnesses suddenly change their tune, and when the judge drops the gavel on that absolute joke of a sentence—where was the law then?"

Inspector Thorne fell silent.

He knew exactly how the Sterling family operated.

They hadn't just bought off the coroner; they hired internet trolls to slut-shame the Finnick family online, spreading rumors that the innocent deaf-mute girl had intentionally thrown herself at the car for a payout.

The victims were subjected to a devastating secondary torment—cyberbullied, isolated, and they even had red paint splashed all over their front door.

"We're trying our best..."

A trace of helpless exhaustion bled into Inspector Thorne's voice.

"Trying your best to watch them get away with murder?"

I unlocked the tablet on the table and slid it over to him.

"Take a look at this."

A live stream was running on the screen.

The frame showed a blonde young man looking arrogant as hell—Bram, Cassius's best sidekick, the very guy who was sitting shotgun in that sports car, taking bets with Cassius on how far the dying girl could crawl.

"Yo boys, did you hear?"

"That poor bastard Cassius actually got stuffed into a trash can! Hahaha!"

Bram laughed maniacally on stream, swirling a glass of champagne in his hand.

"But it's whatever, Uncle Sterling already gave the word—whoever did it is gonna get ripped to shreds!"

"As for that old janitor geezer, pfft, his granddaughter was just a cheap dirtbag who..."

The entire chat was spamming cheers, their vicious words acting like daggers stabbing into an already bleeding, defenseless victim.

Inspector Thorne stared at the screen, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

As a cop, he was completely powerless against this blatant malice, because legally, Bram's trash-talking was nothing more than a moral failing.

"You see, Inspector."

I smiled and pulled the tablet back, stating the cruelest fact in the gentlest tone.

"Some trash will still reek of rot, even if you give them a second chance."

"Since procedural justice can't clean them up, why not let Mother Nature do the purging?"

"What exactly are you trying to do, Isolde?"

Inspector Thorne shot up out of his chair, glaring intensely at me.

"I'm just a florist."

I stood up, picked up my watering can, and walked over to a massive Venus flytrap.

"I only do the watering."

"As for what the seeds will grow into, that depends entirely on what’s buried in the soil."

On the screen, Bram suddenly put down his champagne and yelled excitedly into the camera.

"Alright guys, I'm gonna show you something sick today!"

"Just picked up this limited-edition sportscar, it's the exact same model as the one that ran over... oops, I mean, the one that had that 'accident' last time!"

"Let's go, taking you all for a spin!"

I watched the Venus flytrap slowly snap its jaws shut, clamping down mercilessly on a struggling fly.