Page 106 of Written in Scent

Anything to help me process the unfairness, the fear, the deep ache that keeps spreading through my chest.

I wait.

The pen hovers over the paper.

Nothing comes.

No metaphors rise. No verses about wings or storms or hidden strength. The page stays blank, the silence inside me louder than it has ever been. Poetry has always been there for me, even when nothing else was. It has flowed through me like my own scent, natural and unstoppable. Until now.

I stare at the empty lines until they blur. The notebook feels heavier than it should, like it’s judging me for failing it. I close it slowly with trembling hands and press it against my chest.

I can’t keep pretending everything is fine. The pack is not the enemy, but they’ve become a constant reminder of everything my designation might take from me. Pulling away from them, from everyone, might be the only way left to protect the one thing that still feels like mine… my work.

The wind picks up around me, rattling the bare branches overhead, but I stay on the bench a moment longer, letting the silence settle deep inside where my poetry used to live.

Clothes, notebooks, specimen vials, and insect nets are spread across the bed in careful piles. Sophie and I move around the small dorm room at a snail’s pace, folding shirts and sorting supplies for the rainforest trip.

The chill from outside presses against the window, testing our insulation for the first time since we moved in. Yet, the air in here feels hotter than it should. A fine sheen of sweat gathers on my forehead and the back of my neck. I feel flushed and slightly dizzy, but I try to ignore it.

Sophie notices immediately. She comments only a little at first. “You’re sweating quite a bit, Elodie. The room isn’t even that warm.” Then her tone shifts with growing concern. “Are you feeling alright?”

I brush it off and keep folding another shirt. “I’m fine. It’s probably just the excitement about the trip finally catching up to me.” My movements feel slower than usual, but I focus on listing trip details out loud to distract us both. “I need to make sure I have enough pinning boards and enough vials for the specimens. The humidity will be intense, so extra desiccant packets are important too.”

We chat easily about the trip for a few more minutes. Sophie asks about the equipment list and whether I remembered the extra magnifying loupes. I answer her questions about class and try to keep my voice even.

The fragile hope I have been holding onto flickers again in my chest. I’ve kept away from the pack, hoping that heat spikes will stop completely. Maybe distance is all I needed to protect this one thing that still feels like mine.

Sophie’s hands slow. She sets down the shirt she was folding and watches me more closely now. The playful energy she usually brings to our conversations has faded. Her green eyes stay on me, deadly serious, as the silence between us grows heavier than before.

“Elodie, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go on the trip right now.”

The words land between us with sudden, terrible weight. I stop folding and look up at her, my heart giving a hard thud against my ribs.

“No,” I say immediately, the response coming out fierce and sharp. “I will not be held back by my designation. I have worked too hard for this. This is my chance to prove I can have both my work and my life. I am not letting my biology take this away from me.”

Sophie’s green eyes soften with worry, but she doesn’t back down. “I know how much this means to you. But you’re already sweating more than you should be and you look flushed. The risks out there are real. The heat, the humidity, being so far from help. At least call the pack and talk to them about it. They care about you. They would want to know.”

My throat tightens. I look down at the half folded shirt in my hands. “I’ve been avoiding their messages since the dinner the other night,” I admit, my voice coming out tight. “I know it’s not their fault. My body is the one doing this… but being near them feels like a constant reminder of everything my biology might steal from me. Every text, every call, makes it harder to pretend I can still have this.”

The conversation grows more heated as Sophie steps closer. “Elodie, they would want to help you, not control you. You can’t keep avoiding them forever. They’re your pack. I know that you’re still courting, but you know better than anyone that they’re yours.”

I shake my head, stubborn heat rising in my chest along with the fever. “I need to do this on my own. I need to prove I can.”

The air between us feels thick now, charged with worry and determination. Sophie watches me with growing concern, her honey lavender scent wrapping around me in support even as she disagrees.

“I can handle this,” I insist, the words coming out sharper than I intend. “I just need to get on the plane and put some distance between me and—”

A sudden heat surges through me like a tide of fire, rolling up from my core and flooding every inch of my skin. My vision blurs at the edges, the room tilting sharply as fresh sweat breaks out across my forehead and trickles down my spine.

Sophie’s voice rises with worry. “Elodie, you’re burning up. This isn’t normal. You need to call the pack right now.”

I try to argue one last time, clinging to the words that have kept me going for days. “I can handle this. I just need to get on the plane. Distance will fix it. I’ll be fine once I’m away from them.” The words slur slightly on my tongue, thick and heavy, as if my mouth no longer belongs to me.

The world tilts harder. My knees buckle. I feel myself falling, but Sophie catches me before I hit the floor, guiding me to the bed but we don’t get that far. Her arms wrap around me and she lowers me carefully to the carpet. Panic sharpens her voice.

“Elodie? Elodie, stay with me. I’m calling them. It’ll be OK, I’m calling Alex right now.”

Her fingers fumble with her phone. I hear the faint ring through the haze, then Alex’s soothing voice on the other end.