Evelyn POV
I woke up because something smelled good.
That alone was strange enough to pull me out of sleep slowly, cautiously, as if my body didn't quite trust it.
For a few seconds, I stayed still beneath the covers, eyes half-open, breathing shallowly. The scent lingered in the air—warm, rich, familiar in a way I couldn't immediately place. It wasn't the sharp smell of coffee or the clean neutrality of toast. This was deeper. Softer.
Like onions gently sautéed. Like spices blooming in oil. Like intention.
I frowned slightly.
Liora never cooked in the mornings. She barely survived on coffee and protein bars before work. And I definitely hadn't ordered anything.
The smell drifted again, stronger this time, curling its way through the hallway and into my room like an invitation.
Curiosity won.
I pushed the blanket aside and sat up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. The apartment was quiet—no rushing footsteps, no voices, no television murmuring in the background. Just that smell.
