Chapter 14 · The Scent of a Corpse

“Stop lying, Alice. It’s getting boring.”

Silas didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. He just leaned against the heavy mahogany door, blocking my only exit. Arms crossed, black uniform straining against his shoulders, he looked at me like I was a bug he was deciding whether to crush or keep in a jar.

“I’m not lying,” I snapped. I backed away until my calves hit the edge of the desk. “I don’t even know who that man was. Julian? I haven’t heard that name in a decade.”

“Ten years.” Silas started walking. Slow. Rhythmic. Every boot click on the hardwood sounded like a countdown. “And yet, the moment he whispered in your ear, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Or a god. Which was it?”

I tried to slide left. He was faster.

In one blur, he closed the gap. *Crack!* His hand slammed into the desk right next to my hip. I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“Get away from me,” I hissed.

I didn't move. I couldn't. He was too close. His scent—cold rain and old parchment—filled my lungs, suffocating and sharp.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.