Page 386 of Ripe

“Ezra?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Ezra.”

His eyes lift to mine.

And for the first time since Ward Farm died, I see something in them I haven’t seen in a year.

Fear.

Not of the Harvest.

Not of me.

Recognition.

Before I can ask what he knows, the seed cracks.

Something pale pushes through the shell.

A root.

It curls across the dirt.

Then another piece emerges.

A stem.

A leaf.

And finally, impossibly, a tiny white blossom opens beneath the moon.

Ezra steps back. “No.”

Malakai looks at him. “You know what that is.”

Ezra’s jaw tightens.

The blossom withers.

Its petals fall.

And where the flower existed seconds ago, a miniature apple begins to swell.

Green.

Gold.

Red.

It ripens in seconds.

Then splits cleanly down the middle.

Juice runs into the dirt.

For one strange second, nothing happens.