As soon as she got out of the car, she could smell ozone and rain. It was sharp on her skin, like electricity snapping through the air.
Selene stopped at the curb, her heart racing and her nostrils flaring. It was the kind of smell that tells you something is about to happen.
She was in a state of longing and fear. The vial in her pocket thumped against her thigh, and the USB drive was another heavy thing in her coat. Behind her, footsteps that were far away but getting closer, she took a breath.
The rain mixed with wet concrete, the smell of old streetlamps, and something floral, which fought with something fake below.
She could taste betrayal in it, she walked towards the narrow alley where the white woman had disappeared an hour before.
She had chased after him, running over smooth cobblestones with her heels clicking and her breath coming in fast.
Now, in the light of a flickering streetlight, she followed faint scent trails: leather, violet leaf, and something that was definitely hers, a hint of "Opus Whisper,"
The formula Dorian had given her but she hadn't finished it.
Following Shadows, she followed the smell through back doors, porches covered in vines, and past skips that smelled like copper and rot.
There were different smells in each alley, like mildew, old wood, wet newspaper, and rain in the gutter.
But underneath that, there was the metallic sweetness of ambergris, mixed with lavender and something sharp that made her senses tingle, like nitric acid or burning wires.
She was overwhelmed by her senses, but she trusted them now.
Every smell told her something, like danger, truth, or a lie. Her heart went back and forth between hope and fear. As she turned the corner, she saw Dorian leaning against a brick wall with his coat collar turned up.
His eyes were sharp as he looked around the empty street. She came to a stop.
There were a lot of things they wanted to say to each other but didn't. The smell of cedar, charcoal, and something else came from his coat.
It was a sweet and bitter burn. "You followed the trail," he said softly, as if he were both surprised and not. She got closer, her voice tense.
"You left clues." He didn't move. "To get you to come," she said.
"Or let you know." He made a thin line with his lips.
"Both." She looked at him, and rain formed beads on the bricks. Something in his face changed: guilt? Fear? Need.
The Door to the Warehouse, Dorian held her hand and led her down another alley. The smell got stronger: ambergris, violet leaf, and her own base notes.
The sound of glass breaking echoed. A door to a warehouse with broken hinges and a map of light and shadow.
He stopped and turned to her. Teeth could be seen in the dim light.
"There's no going back once I open this." She nodded. Her heart was racing in her throat. She was both scared and alive.
They both pushed the door open, the hinges squeaked. Inside, dust motes were dancing, the moonlight was coming through holes in the roof, and crates were piled high.
It smells like old wood, oil, mildew, and that perfume, which was a different version of hers that had been changed and made stronger.
Something ran away from behind a crate her heart raced. She took a breath and smelled cedar and leather, which was the same smell she had smelled before.
Then, a soft voice said, "Selene." She turned, nothing.
There was graffiti on the walls, broken glass, and crates that were black, and sawdust got stuck in her shoes.
She tripped over a coil of wire and the pain got worse.
She hissed as her knee hit the metal, he bent down to help, fingers brushing against her scraped skin.
She pulled back a little, but not all the way.
They stopped by an open crate. Inside were bottles of formula, some of which she had written herself and some of which she had never meant to share with the public.
She knew the names of the bottles: Opus Fade, Amor Nocturne, and Opus Whisper. All of them had labels that were hard to see and were covered up by white markers.
Her formulas were either stolen or copied. She opened one that had a base of sweat and smoke that she hated to admit she liked, along with warmed ambergris and violet leaf.
The smell made her stomach turn. Memory exploded: the night of the gala, Lucien's laugh, André's plea, and the scandal photos. Shame that burns.
"Why are they using my smells against me?" Her voice shook.
Dorian's hand grabbed hers tightly.
"Because they think your strength comes from what you don't remember." In what you try to hide. She couldn't see because of the tears.
She shut her eyes, the flickering flame lit up something in the dark behind a crate.
She heard Eliora's voice, which was very soft: "Selene..." She ran ahead.
The Surprising Face Light spilled out and Eliora was hurt, tied to a chair, gagged, and her wrists were tied.
Her eyes were wide with pleading. The woman in white stood behind her, her face half in shadow. She had a mask in one hand and a syringe in the other. The vial glinted.
Selene ran up with her arms outstretched and her voice frantic.
"Eliora!" The woman raised the needle.
Eliora's eyes flashed with fear. The smell was something antiseptic or chemical mixed sharply with the different perfumes in the air, Selene's breath caught.
Dorian got in front of her, his coat brushed the air, and the smell of cedar was stronger now, protective, and too much.
The woman in white said in a cold voice, "You always chase your smell, Selene." If you chase your own smell, you'll get burned. Selene's hand made a fist.
She moved forward quickly. Dorian caught her and pulled her down. A crack on a beam in the ceiling is coming loose. Rubble fell from the sky, wood broke above Selene turned, her heart in her throat.
The beam fell between Eliora and them. The air was full of dust.
The crates moved, and bottles made noise one glass broke. The woman in white disappeared in the chaos.
Dorian protected her, and she had a cough. He helped her get up.
She saw Eliora slipping, with one arm hanging down. Blood, dust, and the smell of fear.
Selene knelt next to Eliora and held her in her shaking arms.
"Wait," she said softly. She didn't want to know what was on her hands, whether it was sweat or Eliora's blood.
Dorian took his phone out of his coat.
Voice steady but cold: "The ambulance will be here in a few minutes." Eliora looked into Selene's eyes.
A tear rolled down, mixing with dirt: "You did this."
Selene shook her head. "No." I tried to help you.
Eliora coughed and blood came out of the corner of her mouth.
"It was your smell..." she said, breathless. "That you made." Selene looked.
The weight of those words took her breath away. The variant she had smelled before glowed in the moonlight behind the scattered crates and in the flickering shadows.
A bottle that isn't broken. The label was smudged, but she knew it was hers.
At that moment, she knew: Not only are her formulas fighting back, but someone is also poisoning the thing she loves most.
Eliora's last words point to Selene's own scent as the cause of the harm.
Maybe she's the one who plays the instrument