Selene's lips curled into a half-smile that she didn't feel, but she needed the mask. The big windows in the studio let in morning light that cut through the clouds of smoke that were still dancing around the corners.
She watched the motes float by, remembering Lucien's voice in the fire, her scream, and the fiery break of trust. She looked in the mirror and started with her nose.
She smells like burnt lavender and musk, fear, and stubborn pride. She let it sit, her smell now was an obsession.
Because she needed to keep an eye on him and get to know him. And to do that, she would steal small, sharp, perfect moments and write them down.
The Eyes of the Perfumer
She went to Dorian's favourite flower shop, Rouge et Ambre, right after it opened. White lilies, red roses, and rare orchids with dew on them.
The air in the stall was damp and heavy. She saw him come in, his long coat dripping and his steps slow. He stopped at a display of lilies and hovered over the pale flowers.
Not as a buyer looking for symbols. She took a deep breath and smelled the green stems, wet petals, and a hint of leather from his coat. Power and weakness are linked.
He reached for a lily, and his fingers brushed the petal by accident. Her heart stopped. Why lilies? Flowers for a funeral, clean, deadly, or a reminder. He didn't buy anything. He breathed in and let the stem touch his cheek.
She watched how his throat moved and how tense his jaw was. At that moment, he was open. She kept it in her head. She also touched a lily alive, light, and soft. Their smells mixed in her mind.
The Gallery Later, she wandered into the Galerie d'Arche, where he had been the week before. An artist worked with perfumers to make scent sculptures out of glass and put them in scent boxes.
She walked slowly, acting like she liked the art, but she was really looking for footprints.
She saw him across the room, leaning towards a sculpture of black amber and oud with his hands behind his back. Someone, probably the curator, whispered to him. He nodded and stepped back, tilting his head to listen to up choice.
Selene studied the amber sculpture from that angle, and the light caught its facets, making shadows on its cheek.
It carved lines into his face that made him look fierce and almost weak. Chemistry came in like an electric current.
She took a deep breath, trying to figure out what he smells like: sandalwood, a little smoke, and something sweet and unexpected. Leather? Or was that just in her head?
She moved closer but stayed hidden behind tall glass panels. She heard him breathe. Saw the stress in his shoulders. He was looking at something with more than just his eyes.
The Call In her lab, late in the afternoon, she wrote down what she had seen:• Lily....sadness? Sorry?
Amber means power and shadow.
Leather smudge...a hint at his fortress-like secrets. Her phone buzzed. A message: Let's meet tonight. You own the address. Don't come by yourself bring smoke. No sender, her heart raced. Smoke was a chemical in her base formula and a theme for him. Brought smoke tonight.
She knew it could be a trap. She also knew she had to leave. She put the new vial that Dorian had given her back at the burned studio on her desk.
She looked at the label, which said "Opus Whisper." This was her own code name for a formula she hadn't told anyone about.
It shook in her hands. She checked herself out in the mirror, face drawn. She had to choose between getting even more obsessed or backing off and drowning in regret.
She wore smoky silk and let her hair hang down, letting the scent touch her skin. She didn't spray anything. She wanted to be absent to say more.
The Edge That Isn't Sure The wind made the night sound strange. She drove through the city.
The address took her to an old perfume lab on Rue des Lilas. The front was dusty and the windows were boarded up, but the heavy door was open and the inside was lit. She slipped inside and was met by the smell of old musk and metal.
The hallway in the back, a faint hum. There are bottles in glass cabinets, and many of them don't have labels. Chemicals that are not in their right place.
A sharp, acrid smell in the air, like a mix of antiseptic and incense. In the middle, she saw Dorian standing next to a wooden table that had been burned.
His face was half in shadow under the light. His cheekbones were sharp, his eyes were dark, and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat or rain.
She couldn't tell, she stopped at the door. He didn't move. She moved forward in the empty room, and every step echoed.
"How did you get here?" He didn't look at her. A calm voice.
"I was following the smell," she said. Her voice was soft, but not weak. "Following traces." At last, he turned.
He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, making his forearms tight. One hand was hovering over a small glass bottle. The liquid inside sparkled, and she couldn't put her finger on the smell.
They were too close to each other. Light flickered, and the shadows on his face changed from coat buttons to dark eyes to lips that she still thought about.
"Obsessing again." His voice was both an accusation and a confession. She didn't say no. "I have to know." He moved closer to her.
The smell between them got stronger. Leather, dry smoke, and her own skin that hasn't been sprayed. She almost reached out. Her chest stuttered. Instead, she asked,
"What is this?" He raised the vial. "Something I made." From what I know about you. Her heart hurt.
"You made me smell? Again? He kept a close eye on her. "Based on your feed: your fear, your sadness, and your guilt."
"Feed?" Her voice was shaky. "Yes." Every place you've been, every smell you've followed, and every memory you've buried.
They turned into notes for what I'm making. She wanted to hate him and move away. But she didn't. She stood still, and he put the vial on the table.
The liquid glowed in the study light, casting golden shadows. It smells like tears she had never cried and secrets she had never told. She leaned into it. Took a breath. It wrapped around her lungs and burned.
The Kiss That Could Kill Wait. He got closer and almost touched her. Fingers brushing hair and cheekbones. His voice was low.
"Hey, you know you're more dangerous when you watch than when you run." Her heart raced.
She got closer, and he took a breath. Her skin was cold and her adrenaline was high. He kissed her, and she could taste cold silk, smoke, and something metallic that she didn't want to name. At first, it was soft and confused, but then it got deep and wise.
Two people who had been hurt by betrayal but found comfort in the same fire.
She grabbed his shirt with her hands. She felt his heart racing. Pulled apart, both of them breathing.
"I think..." she said, her voice breaking, "I think I want the truth more than safety." He nodded.
The Turn Dorian's eyes darted to the window, where one pane was open and moonlight was coming in. His eyes became sharper. She looked where he was looking. The shadows moved.
A shadow on the roof across the street. Not normal for someone with a plan. He looked back at her. "Did anyone follow you tonight?"
Selene opened her mouth to tell a lie. A loud knock on the door made her jump before she could speak. Wood shaking. Selene went to the door. Dorian held her by the shoulder.
Dorian's voice was soft, but it was full of danger and command. "Don't open." She looked at him. Fear, betrayal, and longing all mixed up. Then, from somewhere outside the door, a calm, familiar voice.
"You forgot something, or I wouldn't have had to come." Selene's blood froze. She kind of knew that voice.
She looked at Dorian. His eyes were dark like moons. "No," she said softly. "It can't be."
Then the voice outside spoke again, this time from the other side of the door.
"Selene... open the door I remember everything now."
Dorian's grip is stronger.
"Whatever you do," he whispered," don't let him in."
Then...the handle on the door started to burn.