"I don’t understand..." Vivienne frowned. "These look like the same plant."
"That’s what I thought, too," Lewis agreed, tapping a finger over the scrawled notes. "But read the description in the field log."
“What we first thought was Bauhinia guianensis turned out to be a different species with exponential growth capacity, large, dangerous thorns, and an unusual trait—it changes course. We’ve named the newly discovered species Tendrilis serpens.”
Vivienne leaned in, eyes narrowing as she worked through the cramped, looping cursive. "Changes course? As it grows?"
Lewis shook his head, his voice laced with intrigue. "No. From the rest of the notes, the vine actually adapts to interaction—like it’s... deciding which way it wants to go."
Her skepticism flared. Plants responding to external stimuli wasn’t groundbreaking. But Lewis had that glint in his eye, the one he got when he was onto something big.
"Okay, okay." He put his hands up. "You're not impressed by the vine. Well, take a look at this.”
He flipped to an earmarked page in another almanac and slid a second field log beside it. The almanac depictedDionaea muscipula, a species she recognized as a Venus flytrap.
“From the field logs,” Lewis began, excitement bubbling through his words, “Verdance has something like this butmuchbigger.”
Vivienne squinted at him. "How much bigger?"
"Larger than any we’ve ever seen. The notes say it's capable of eating animals."
"Dramatic name," Vivienne scoffed, tracing the label in the field log. "‘Mortivora arbori’… who would name it something so over the top?"
She translated the Luxial words meaning ‘soul-catcher plant’.
Lewis delayed his response, shifting uncomfortably.
Her brow furrowed at his silence. Then she saw it. The gilded name stamped onto the field log’s cover.
William Banner.
Her father’s name.
A lump formed in her throat, grief and uncertainty swirling in her chest.
Lewis winced. "I was trying not to bring it up."
Vivienne swallowed hard, forcing a shrug. "It makes sense," she said, though her voice wavered. "My parents were the ones doing the research."
A long silence stretched between them. Then, gently, Lewis pulled her back into the conversation.
"The next step is to compare these findings with your mother’s journal."
Vivienne stiffened. "Shhh!" She hushed him, eyes darting around. "I don’t want anyone thinking I shouldn’t have it—or worse, taking it from me."
Lewis lowered his voice. "Where is it now?"
"I brought it down here." She pulled the journal from her tote, resting it on the table. "I wanted to show you something."
Vivienne flipped to a specific page full of her scribbled handwriting.
"Remember the Harvest Moon Festival?" she asked. "The nearly toothless sailor?—"
Lewis' eyes widened. "The one who bought us drinks at The Pelican?"
"The one and only."
Vivienne tapped a finger on the parchment. "Bare Fang Bill and his lads sang this sea shanty. And the lyrics? They match parts of my mother’s notes."
