He leaned in, his breath ghosting against her ear, calm and deliberate.
"You discovered the cause... yet again," he whispered, his voice like velvet soaked in menace.
"But can you keep up—and find the one pulling the strings?"
Sheraphina's eyes widened.
What—what is he saying?
But even as the words settled in the air, her vision began to blur.
Her knees buckled.
No… something's wrong.
The scent of moonblossom—once familiar—now struck her like a warning bell.
It wasn't just a cover... It was masking something else.
Her limbs grew heavy, her body refusing to obey.
"So the moonblossom... was only to hide the true scent. A drug..."
Paralysis swept through her, locking her in place. She couldn't move, couldn't speak—but she could hear everything. Feel everything.
She was aware of the soft rustle of fabric, of gloved arms lifting her gently from the floor.
She wanted to scream.
He laid her down on the bed with care—as if she were a fragile thing, not a threat.
And then he leaned close again, whispering one final time:
"Intriguing indeed."
Then silence.
By the time her vision cleared, the masked man was gone.
But the scent lingered—and so did the terror.