By six, the roof garden had lost its labels. Someone had tied each plant to a brass tag, but the storm left only one in place: BEE. On Monday, the residents voted to remove the hive. On Tuesday, a child arrived with a jar of water and an apology for the flowers. The caretaker let her pour it beneath the mint. All week, the garden smelled of rain and bruised leaves. Then the brass tag tipped over, and a small dark body climbed out from under it. The child did not run. Neither did the caretaker. By evening, the tag was back on the mint; the bee had disappeared. In the jar, rain ticked softly against glass all night long.
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