It began with a paper cup. Elin found it rolling at the edge of the park path one windy April morning, half-crushed, the coffee long gone. She picked it up with the same distracted irritation she’d felt for months—about litter, about work, about the endless headlines that made the planet sound like it was already lost. She almost tossed it in the nearest bin without looking, but then she noticed what was inside: a tiny green shoot, just breaking the soil. It was no more than two leaves, pale ...
