The orchid was a Cattleya trianae, one of the finest specimens in Charles-Edouard's collection, and it had been in bloom for eleven days when he first noticed that it was wrong.
Not wrong in the way that flowers go wrong—wilting, browning, rotting. Wrong in a way that had no name, because it was not a change that any botanist would recognize. The petals were still perfect. The color had not faded. The scent was as sweet and complex as it had been on the first day. But they were thinner. Charles-Edouard measured them with a caliper he had borrowed from the Sorbonne—a...
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