The atmosphere within the Orion Gallery was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the electric hum of high-stakes commerce, but as Liam Livingston leaned closer to the unrolled scroll, a different scent hit him—one that didn't belong in a climate-controlled sanctuary of art. It was faint, nearly imperceptible to the untrained nose, but to someone like Liam, who had begun to sense the world through the heightened perception of an Initiate, it was as loud as a siren. Underneath the delicate aroma of ancient ink lay the damp, cloying stench of Corpse-Scent—the unmistakable smell of wet earth and stagnant decay that only comes from deep, subterranean chambers.
Liam’s eyes narrowed, his gaze tracking the edges of the silk mounting. There, tucked into the microscopic crevices of the wooden
