The door leads into a giant dome full of plants, the air moist and very warm, smelling of life and flowers. The same soft light shines down on us from embedded bulbs far above. I know we're underground, but I don't feel the oppression of the earth above me at all.
Socrates runs here and there, examining different rows of growing things, his excitement contagious. I finger the soft leaves of a plant, find myself smiling at the sensation.
Everyone breathes deeply, taking in the scent of the air as though we hadn't just come from outdoors. There is a flavor to it, a freshness and promise driving my spirits upward and I can see I'm not the only one.
It's Poppy who breaks our happy bubble, though her question is innocent. "I wonder who takes care of the flowers?"
Socrates meets my eyes inst
