Without warning, bright green flames erupted from the metal grates. They licked at the air with a ghostly, silent intensity. But as the flames grew, the temperature in the room plummeted. The "fire" was a cooling unit, drawing heat out of the air and replacing it with a deep, crisp chill.
"Do the people in this world have a grudge against warmth?" he sighed, feeling the goosebumps rise on his arms. He quickly shut the fireplace panel.
He did a quick sweep of the bedroom and the bathroom, but found nothing—no hidden cameras, no secret passages.
Finally, he sat at the table and placed the tree pot in front of him. The silence of the room seemed to amplify the low, vibrating hum coming from the glass dome.
"What is your secret?" he whispered to the plant.
The fog inside the pot had reached a state of extreme density. It was no longer a translucent mist; it was a thick, milky white soup that completely obscured the Bonsai tree.
