The rain started before sunset and hardened into a steady assault by the time Damian found me.
Paris had not taken me yet. Julian had delayed our departure by three days to finalize depositions, asset transfers, and the foundation terms I had demanded in writing. The city outside my temporary residence smelled of wet stone, traffic oil, and cold iron. Inside, the penthouse held only amber wax, old paper, and the faint ghost of bergamot from the blotter strips I had tested that afternoon.
I knew the second Damian entered the building.
Not by sight, of course.
By the disturbance.
By the abrupt shift in the lobby intercom downstairs, the tight pulse in the elevator cables, the way the receptionist’s voice had gone from polished to uncertain. By the scent that arrived before he did—rainwa
