The First Clinic Garden

Its roots grew through the old clinic foundation. Each branch carried a name of someone who had refused transfer.

Everett's branch was bare.

Claire touched it.

“He does not get erased.”

“No,” Mara said. “He gets remembered accurately.”

The branch grew one leaf.

On it appeared the sentence: I chose the market after I knew the harm.

Room Sixty-One opened beneath the roots.