The morning after the erasure of the Ancients, Manhattan woke up to a crisp, deceptively normal autumn breeze. The broken lock on the front door of Aura Scents had already been replaced, its sleek matte-black surface showing no signs of the corrosive acid that had dissolved its predecessor hours prior. Inside, the pristine boutique smelled of nothing but fresh white tea and lemon verbena, a fragrance so bright and innocent it completely masked the fact that three half-millennium-old supernatural executioners had been reduced to ash on the very same floor just before midnight.
Kiara sat behind her marble desk, her long fingers typing a set of inventory numbers into her tablet. She didn't look up when the silver chime above the entrance let out its familiar, melodious ring, nor did she need
