Julian’s POV
The scent of Katia was still a ghost in my study, a haunting mixture of jasmine, expensive skin, and that underlying hint of ozone that seemed to follow her everywhere. Even after a shower, even after scrubbing the physical memory of her from my skin, I could swear the fragrance had embedded itself into the very pores of my hands. I sat in my high-backed leather chair, the only light in the room coming from the three massive monitors displaying encrypted telemetry data and the flickering orange glow of a streetlamp outside the Windsor estate.
A soft, hesitant scratching at the door broke the silence. It wasn't a knock of authority; it was the sound of someone who wasn't sure they were allowed to exist in the same hallway. I didn't need to look at the security feed to know it
