The glass doors of Aura Scents did not shatter. Instead, the heavy lock simply melted, turning into a silent stream of black, corroded liquid that dripped onto the hardwood floor. The three Ancients stepped into the boutique like wraiths born of a winter fog. Their movements were entirely devoid of human friction—no rustle of clothing, no sound of footsteps, not even the microscopic displacement of air. They held their ancient, curved obsidian blades low, their solid black eyes scanning the tailored minimalism of the store.
But as they crossed the threshold, their dead, iris-less eyes widened in sudden, collective confusion.
The boutique was entirely empty. Not just physically, but spiritually. To the hypersensitive supernatural senses of the council’s elite executioners, the shop felt l
