The neutral registrar stepped between Mirelle Dacre and the fallen applicator.
“No one leaves the inspection lane.”
Tavian Roarke heard vehicle engines idling beyond the platform. Nine former Roarke dependents waited beside their medical cases. Neutral guards had already moved closer.
The evidence pouch crackled in the registrar’s gloved hand.
Mirelle’s companion ribbon remained pinned across her shoulder.
Her Omega scent remained gone.
Tavian looked at the glass applicator on the concrete. A thin amber line marked its center. He had seen scent stabilizers before. They came in sealed medical packs with printed dosage strips.
This had neither.
Mirelle folded her arms over her burned wrist. “It was prescribed privately.”
“By whom?” the registrar asked.
“My healer.”
“Name.”
She lo
