Clea Gaultier was known around town for her meticulous garden. Rows of lavender, rosemary, and bright marigolds stretched behind the little brick house she’d inherited from her grandmother. She tended each plant with the reverence of a librarian handling ancient tomes—every leaf had its place, every bloom its purpose.
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“Sybil,” Clea replied, wiping rain from her sleeve. “What brings you to this rain‑soaked corner of the city?” Clea Gaultier was known around town for her