She told herself it was nothing, just her memories playing tricks on her, but she knew better.
The world had a scent no one spoke about.
Fear.
Hatred.
Old grief.
Love.
And beneath it all, she remembered him.
His scent had been threaded through the air like an invisible seam.
It was softer than she remembered.
Faint and suppressed.
But it was still unmistakable.
I burned the memory of you, so why does the world keep handing it back to me?
No stranger smelled like that, and she wouldn't mistake his scent for anything else.
Her fingers twitched, fighting the urge to find him and tear into him to confirm the truth lodged in her bones, but she didn't.
Couldn't
That voice had no right to exist in her world anymore.
And yet…
Therin.
She hated that name
Her sense of smell was unmistakable, and Therin smelled sixty percent of Aramith, which was the same as saying he was the same person.
