"I… I'll try my best," the florist stammered. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears, dread flooding his chest as his eyes locked onto the note.
No. That wasn't possible.
That handwriting—
It was Garth's.
Then how—how could it possibly be in this Enigma's hands?
The young florist's hand started to shake as his fingers closed around the pen.
A cold thought crept into his mind, slow and dreadful.
Had their operation been exposed?
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each pulse louder than the last as panic tightened around his chest. He struggled to keep his breathing steady, but his thoughts were already spiraling.
How?
How could this Enigma have traced their connection—when he and Garth had been so careful, leaving not a single crumb behind?
"Th-the handwriting looks a bit… d-difficult," the young florist said, forcing an excuse. "P-please let me practice first—"
