But then—
I paused.
Dead in my tracks.
Right at the threshold of the OR.
Because I smelled it.
A scent I hadn’t encountered in seven years.
Familiar.
Sharp.
Enticing in the most unwelcome way.
My mouth went dry. My body locked.
“No,” I whispered.
It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t be.
I stood frozen in place, my lungs refusing to work. I stared at the swinging double doors like they were the gates of hell.
My fingers trembled.
Irma stirred violently in my chest.
“No,” she growled, panicked. “No, no—turn around, Amber. We can’t go in there. Please, we can’t.”
But my feet wouldn’t move.
Because some part of me already knew.
That scent.
Those pheromones.
The exact chemical imprint that haunted my worst nights.
Rayne.
It was him.
On that table.
Bleeding. Dying.
And the secon
