The kitchen was silent for a moment, the only sound the distant, rhythmic dripping of a leaky faucet and the hum of the city breathing outside their window. Luca remained standing by the pile of revealing clothes, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the soft fabric of the white knit top. His expression, usually so cold and detached, had softened into something unreadable—something hauntingly reminiscent.
"The day of the rut," Luca began, his voice dropping into a low, melodic register that seemed to vibrate in the small room. "When the containment failed in his office... the air didn't just turn hot, Kaelan. It changed. The scent... I've never felt anything like it. It was like charred cedar and crushed lilies, but underneath it all, there was this metallic, silver thrum. It was thick. Addictive. Even through the Enigma's clarity, I found myself wanting to breathe it in. I wanted to stay in that room until the world ended, just to keep smelling it."
