Chapter 4

Santa Monica's sea breeze carried the scent of salt and endings as I pushed open the door to Eternal Blooms, the bell chiming softly above me. The florist looked up with a practiced smile, the kind reserved for happy occasions—birthdays, anniversaries, declarations of love. Not for what I was about to request.

"I need to arrange funeral flowers," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "For myself."

The florist's smile faltered, confusion crossing her features before professional composure took over. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

"It's for a... performance piece," I lied smoothly, the story Arthur had crafted for…