“They can wait in the dark,” Imani says, tasting it. “Like a power nap.”

Oskar’s painted tomato looks unconvinced. “Sugar is a bank. Darkness is a withdrawal. Stretch, pale, weak stems—etiolation. Then the LEDs have to pay interest. Storms last. Banks empty.”

You wanted the plants to be tough, because toughness is a story people tell about Mars. Toughness is not chlorophyll.

Imani will not grab your wrist. “You can reverse. We still have hours. Or you can hide in Hearth with a cup and tell yourself biology is patient. Biology is patient and hungry.”

GROVE: “Canopy PAR still falling. LED banks idle.”

A tray of greens already leans, just a little, toward the last honest patch of sky. Leaning is a sentence.