“Are we sure,” he says, the words low, more to the room than to any of us.
“We’re sure,” Christian replies.
I don’t move straight away.
Because something hits me before I do. Her scent.
Faint.
Almost gone.
But still there.
My chest tightens slightly as I take a step further in, my attention narrowing, my focus shifting away from the empty space and onto something else entirely.
“I can smell her,” I say.
The words come out before I think about them.
All three of them turn.
“What?” Jackson asks.
I move further in, slower now, my head tilting slightly as I breathe in again, trying to catch it properly, trying to separate it from everything else.
“Her perfume,” I say, quieter this time, more certain. “It’s still here.”
Not strong.
Not fresh.
But there.
It settles something in me and makes everything worse at the same time.
“She was here,” Jackson says, like he needs to say it out loud to make it real.
Elijah doesn’t stop moving.
He starts tearing the place apart.
Not methodically.
Not cleanly.
He grabs at anything that could be something, throwing it aside when it isn’t, checking behind, under, inside anything that could hold even the smallest clue.
“Fuck,” he mutters, the word low and vicious as he moves to the next thing.
Jackson is already on his phone.
“Evelyn,” he says the second she answers. “We’re at the warehouse. She’s not here.”
He turns slightly as he listens.
“There has to be something else,” he continues. “Anything connected to Paul in this area. Anything. You and Lucian need to look again.”
Another pause.
