Book Four: Chapter 17

Dana coughed again, harsher this time, lifting a hand to wave uselessly at the air in front of her face as if she could physically shove the smell away. The room answered her efforts with stubborn stillness. With no proper ventilation, she knew the scent would cling to the walls, the curtains, and probably her clothes for hours. Maybe longer. It was the kind of smell that sank in and refused to leave, sharp and medicinal, like burnt herbs mixed with something metallic.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath, her voice hoarse as she pushed herself up from the chair.

Grumbling quietly to herself, Dana crossed the room and rummaged through a small drawer until she found the scented candles she kept for emergencies—this very kind of emergency. She struck a match and lit one, then another, spacing them out deliberately. Lavender bloomed first, followed by vanilla and something faintly citrusy. Th