The bell above the door chimed as John stepped into Heartleaf Botanicals.

  The shop looked the same as before. Plants everywhere, climbing the walls and hanging from the ceiling in careful arrangements. The air smelled green and alive.

  An elf stood behind the counter, bent over a cutting. John recognized him immediately, the same one who had wordlessly walked away the last time he’d been here.

  But this time when the elf looked up his expression transformed, breaking into a smile so sudden and genuine that it caught John off guard. The elf dropped the cutting without a second thought and hurried around the counter.

  Before John could say anything, the elf had pulled him into a hug.

  John stood there, slightly stunned, as the elf squeezed him tight. He was stronger than he looked.

  "Thank you," the elf said quietly into John's shoulder.

  He pulled back, hands still on John's arms, eyes bright. He didn't explain further. Just stood there, grinning.

  "I, uh," John cleared his throat. "You’re welcome."

  The elf's hands stayed on John's shoulders, his smile genuine and warm. "Please. What can I help you with?"

  "I need a bouquet of flowers,” John said. “Something a girl would like.”

  "Wonderful!" The elf was already moving, pulling down plants and examining blooms with quick, practiced efficiency. "Who’s the lucky girl? What’s she like?"

  "Dead."

  The elf's hands froze mid-reach toward a hanging basket.

  "They’re for her wedding."

  He turned slowly to look at John.

  "She died on the way to the ceremony. He thought she'd abandoned him and didn't handle it well."

  His spatial ring trembled faintly against his finger.

  "It’s been seventy years now, but they’re finally getting their day."

  The elf stared at him for a long moment, taking in the weight of those words. Then he started pulling flowers from different sections of the shop, weaving them together with renewed purpose. The arrangement came together quickly under his practiced hands. Beautiful and delicate, white and blue with touches of silver-green catching the light.

  It looked incredible. Better than anything John could have imagined.

  The elf moved to the counter and pulled out a length of silver ribbon, tying it carefully around the stems.

  "For remembrance," he explained. "And new beginnings. And hope after long darkness."

  John nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

  A small, proud smile crossed the elf's face.

  “No charge,” he said. “Consider it a gift.”

  “Actually,” John said, reaching into his ring, “I have something for you.”

  He laid the property deeds on the counter.

  The elf glanced at them, then froze. "These are the ones above—"

  "The elder is going to want to thank you again. When he returns from—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Do you even understand all you've done for us?"

  "Just a few hours of my time," John said with a shrug. "No big deal."

  The elf exhaled, the sound heavy with age and feeling. "We will make you understand,” he said softly. “Even if it takes all your life."

  John almost laughed. That sounded weirdly ominous. He knew it wasn't meant that way, but still.

  He adjusted his grip on the bouquet. “I should get going.”

  The elf gestured toward the door. “Of course. They’ve waited long enough.”

  John was nearly outside when the elf called after him.

  "John."

  He turned.

  “My name is Aelar,” the elf said. “Know that you’re always welcome here.”

  John smiled. “Thanks, Aelar.”

  The bell chimed as he stepped back out into the afternoon sun.

  The carriage was waiting where he'd left it. The driver sat in his seat, book open in his lap. He looked up as John approached.

  "Ready, sir?"

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Yes. Take me to the Church of Hadric in the merchant district."

  "Yes, sir." The driver's response was automatic, but John caught the small flinch. He set his book aside and gathered the reins, then paused. "May I ask why, sir? If it's not too forward."

  "I need a priest to officiate a wedding for ghosts."

  The driver's hands stilled on the reins. "Ghosts, sir?"

  "An engaged couple that were madly in love. Any normal priest would try to exorcise them, but Hadric's priests are morally flexible when proper donations are involved."

  "They are that, sir." The driver's voice was neutral, but something in his tone suggested he didn't approve. "If I may suggest, sir... there's a Church of Alora in the slums. The priest there might help. Without needing to be convinced with money."

  John studied him. “You think he’d help ghosts?”

  "For love? Yes. I think he would. He taught me to read when I was young and too sick to leave home. He's kind. Believes mercy matters more than rules."

  John looked at the driver more closely. "You think he'd do it today?"

  "I can't promise he will," the driver admitted. "But I know him. If anyone would help without a bribe, it's Father Bevin. Please, sir."

  John climbed into the carriage. "Take me to him, then."

  The carriage rattled through the streets, leaving the cleaner merchant district behind. The buildings grew shabbier with each block. Clean stone gave way to cracked walls and boarded windows. The air grew heavier, the streets narrower, until the carriage stopped in front of a small church wedged between two sagging tenements.

  Time had not been kind to it.

  John looked up at it. The stone was gray with age and grime. The roof sagged visibly. One window was boarded up entirely.

  The driver climbed down and waited by the door. John stepped out of the carriage with the bouquet and followed him through.

  Inside, John could tell the church was dying.

  He could see it the moment he stepped through the door. Empty space where pews should be. Water damage staining the walls in dark patterns. Gaps in the roof letting in shafts of afternoon light that highlighted the dust and decay.

  A girl was cleaning the floor near the altar. Young, with dark hair tied back under a white headscarf. She looked up when she heard the door and her whole face lit up.

  "William!" She dropped her brush and hurried over, cheeks flushing slightly. "I wasn't expecting you today."

  John glanced at his driver. So that was his name.

  "Something came up," William said, smiling at her. "Is Father Bevin here?"

  "Always." She smoothed her headscarf, then seemed to realize she was doing it and dropped her hands. "You look well."

  William didn't seem to notice the way she was looking at him. "You too, Cara. The new bench turned out nicely." He gestured to a repaired pew near the front.

  "Because you helped fix it," she said softly.

  An old man's voice called from the back. "Cara? Who's there?"

  "It's William, Father!"

  The old priest emerged from the back room, moving slowly with one hand trailing along the wall for guidance. His eyes turned toward the sound but didn't quite focus properly. Very old, with robes that were clean but patched in multiple places. Mended with care but obviously worn.

  "Back so soon? I thought you'd be working."

  "I am," William said, moving forward to meet him. "My employer needs your help."

  Father Bevin's hand found William's arm, squeezing it with familiar affection. "Always good to hear your voice, my boy. What can we do?"

  Cara hovered nearby, still watching William with an expression he completely missed.

  William glanced at John. "My employer needs your help. With a wedding."

  "A wedding?" The priest's face lit up like someone had given him an unexpected gift. "Oh, how wonderful! We haven't had one here in so long. When would you like to—"

  "Today," John said. "And it's for two ghosts."

  The smile faded. Cara's hand went to her mouth.

  "Ghosts," Father Bevin repeated carefully. "William, you know what we do with ghosts. They need to be put to rest. Released from their suffering."

  "Father, please." William's voice was urgent. "This man has good reasons for the things he does. He should be helped." He paused. "He's the one who killed Eric the Red."

  Cara gasped. Father Bevin's eyes widened.

  John shifted uncomfortably. "I had help."

  The old priest's hands fumbled until they found John's arm. He gripped it tightly. "Alora's blessing upon you, child. May her light guide you and her mercy keep you."

  Heat bloomed where the priest's hands touched him. Warm, like sunlight through a window. It spread up his arm, across his chest, and settled somewhere near his heart before fading to a gentle warmth.

  John blinked. "What was—"

  "You carry a heavy burden," Father Bevin said softly. "The goddess sees it. She offers what comfort she can."

  Father Bevin released John's arm slowly, his expression thoughtful. "You saved children. That speaks well of you." He paused. "But why marriage instead of peace?"

  "Do you know of the Thornwick Mansion?"

  Father Bevin was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant.

  "Every priest in the city knows it. They've tried many exorcisms over the years." He shook his head. "Now we are just thankful its domain does not spread."

  "That's the groom," John said. "His fiancée died on the way to their wedding. He thought she abandoned him and killed himself. She's been in the catacombs all this time. Both suffering. Both alone."

  Father Bevin's expression shifted. "The ghost at Thornwick... he's been waiting for his bride?"

  "Yes."

  "And you've found her."

  "I have. Her name is Emily."

  The old priest was quiet, thinking it through. Cara watched him, her hand still near her mouth.

  "Love that binds beyond death," Father Bevin said slowly. "Not malice. Not rage." His hand reached out and Cara took it gently. "Perhaps we were trying to destroy what shouldn't be destroyed."

  "So you'll help?" John asked.

  Father Bevin nodded slowly. "If marriage can finally give them peace, then that is exactly the kind of suffering Alora asks us to ease. When can we go?"

  "As soon as possible."

  Cara was already moving toward the back room. "I'll get your traveling robes, Father."

  Father Bevin's expression softened into something amused. "Till death do us part seems rather redundant in this case, doesn't it?" He shook his head. "Bring everything, Cara. Let's send them off properly."

  John headed for the door. Seventy years was a long time to wait for a wedding, but some promises were worth keeping. Even beyond death.