𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Favor Repaid

I awaken to the sensation of something soft and featherlight brushing against my face, tickling my skin in a way that pulls me reluctantly from unconsciousness. A faint warmth lingers near me, accompanied by hushed words—words that were nowhere near my list of priorities but now force their way into my awareness.

“You can’t die. Not when I just found you. Not when I just experienced the feeling of a family again.”

The voice is low, trembling with raw emotion. Layza.

A bitter thought crosses my mind: he must have been so deprived of affection, so utterly starved for connection, that he latched onto the first spirit to enter his lonely, cursed existence. Pathetic, really.

I stay still, eyes closed, weighing my options. Should I open my eyes now and shatter his fragile hope with cold rejection? Or should I feign sleep a while longer, pretend I didn’t just hear his vulnerable confession?

Or perhaps, I muse, a sly smile threatening to form, I could use this. Use his feelings to my advantage.

I sit with Layza in what he calls a living room, though it feels more like a greenhouse masquerading as one. His gaze is fixed on me, unrelenting, as if even a momentary lapse of attention might cause me to shatter into irreparable pieces. It’s been far too long since I stepped through the portal hidden in a vending machine and landed in this pastel-pink haven. But enough of this detour—it’s time to get back to the mission.

“I fixed whatever was wrong with your plant mom,” I say, wiggling my fingers at the sea of potted plants cluttering the center table. There are so many, I struggle to recall which one was the patient in question. “You should repay the favor.”

This should be easier now, considering he’s started treating me like family.

“I already repaid your favor,” he says simply, his tone flat but resolute.

Forget what I said about this being easy.

“Oh?” I arch a brow, feigning patience. “And pray tell, how and when did you repay my favor for saving your last living”—I pause, an unwelcome flood of inappropriate vegetable jokes about his mother springing to mind, none of which will help me here—“relative?” I manage to finish, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

For a fleeting moment, I catch the barest twitch of a smile on his lips, but it vanishes before it can take form. “Do you think just anyone knows the personal history of the great spirit Layza?” he counters, his voice calm but edged with challenge. “I repaid you by sharing my story—something few living beings are privy to.”

I stare at him, incredulous, suppressing the urge to scream. I will kill this man.

But no, screaming won’t solve anything. Poise is key.

For a split second, the reckless idea of uprooting his precious plant-mother crosses my mind, but I discard it just as quickly. He'd kill me before I could even get to the word blackmail.