Page 43 of Wings
"Called yesterday," I assured her. "Still there. Actually expanded since we went. They added a whole tropical wing."
She had made a soft sound of happiness that hit me right in the chest.
It wasn’t long before we arrived at the Botanical Center.
It had been two weeks since she'd shown up at the clubhouse terrified and broken. Two weeks of watching her unfold like one of her butterflies emerging from a chrysalis. The woman who got off my motorcycle bore little resemblance to the ghost who'd dropped medical supplies in a parking garage.
Her hair caught the morning sun through the helmet visor, loose and free instead of scraped back in defense. She wore one of the sundresses from the nursery—yellow with tiny flowers that made her skin glow. When I'd zipped it up for her this morning, she'd smiled at me in the mirror with such trust it had taken my breath away.
The botanical center's parking lot was mostly empty on a Thursday morning. Good. I wanted this moment to be ours, not crowded with school field trips and tourists. Ki pulled her helmet off and hung it carefully on the handle. She bounced up and down with excitement.
"Slower, baby girl," I chuckled, catching her hand. "Butterflies have been here millions of years. They'll wait five more minutes."
But I understood her urgency. This place held memory—good memory, untainted by what came after. We'd been so young then, sitting on that bench while Alex chased after some girl. Ki sketching in her notebook while I pretended to read plaques but really watched her hands move across paper, creating beauty from nothing.
The entrance looked exactly the same. Same tired gift shop, same bored teenager at the ticket counter, same signs warning about climate control and not touching the wildlife. But Ki's face as we entered the main conservatory—that was entirely new.
Wonder.
Pure, uncomplicated wonder like I'd handed her the moon.
The humid air hit like a wall, thick with the scent of tropical flowers and rich earth. Butterflies danced everywhere—morphos with wings like blue lightning, monarchs in clouds of orange and black, tiny jewellike creatures I couldn't name. The sound of water features mixed with the rustling of wings, creating its own ecosystem of peace.
"Oh," Ki breathed, and then she was moving.
Not the careful, defensive movements I'd grown used to. This was Ki unguarded, spinning slowly to take it all in, face tipped up to track the flight patterns above us. A morpho landed on her shoulder, wings slowly opening and closing, and her laugh was bright as bells.
"Hello, beautiful," she whispered to it. "Oh, look at you. So perfect."
I hung back, just watching. This was why I'd brought her here. Not just for the butterflies, but for this—seeing her in a place where she'd once been happy, before Alex's poison, before the running and hiding and fear. Proof that those parts of her still existed, just waiting for somewhere safe to emerge.
She wandered deeper into the conservatory, pausing at each flowering bush to see who might be feeding. I followed, hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her every time she made those soft sounds of delight. An older couple passed us, smiling at her obvious joy. She didn't even notice, too absorbed in watching a cluster of swallowtails dance around a fountain.
"Wings—Gabe, look!" She grabbed my hand, pulling me to a bench—not the same one from years ago, but close enough. "Monarchs. A whole migration's worth."
She was right. The air above the bench swirled orange and black, dozens of monarchs in some kind of aerial ballet. We sat, her hand still in mine, and watched them dance.
"Did you know," she said softly, "that monarchs can navigate using the sun? Even on cloudy days, they can sense polarized light patterns. They always know which way is home."
"Smart bugs."
"Mmm." She leaned into my side. "I used to think if I could just figure out their secret, maybe I'd stop feeling so lost."
One landed on her free hand, wings spread wide. She held perfectly still, barely breathing, and I knew this was it. This moment, with her glowing in filtered sunlight and butterflies treating her like one of their own—this was when I needed to do this.
I shifted, pulling the small velvet box from my jacket pocket. Her attention stayed on the butterfly, giving me time to steady my nerves. Three years of combat and my hands shook over a piece of jewelry.
"Ki," I said quietly.
She turned to me, butterfly lifting off in a flash of orange. Her eyes found the box immediately, going wide.
"I want you to have something," I managed, throat tight with emotion. "A reminder that you're mine to protect. That you're safe, always."
I opened the box.
The collar caught the light, silver butterfly delicate as spun sugar but strong as steel. The lock was tiny, functional but disguised as part of the design. To anyone else, it would look like a pretty necklace. But we'd know. We'd know it meant she belonged to someone who'd stand between her and any storm.
"Gabe," she breathed, and I couldn't tell if she was about to cry or fly away herself.
