It’s You. It’s Me. It’s Us.

———

Teeth glinted at the corners of my vision, a flash of red in the dark that surrounds me like a suffocating blanket. 

Chittering laughter of a man not altogether sane echoes off far away walls I cannot see. 

I hear the slow, syrupy drip of something viscous through the heavy black, and I attempt to turn to try and find the source. But it’s so dark, and I find I can’t move my arms or legs from where they are already positioned.

I glance down at myself and find the darkness has coiled around my wrists and ankles, trapping me.

Panic begins to well up in my chest as the gaunt face of Murphy looms out of the darkness, deep red dripping from his manic grin in time with the sound of the dripping. 

“Please…” I try to say, but my voice is trapped in my chest and only comes out as a strangled cry that burns my throat. 

Murphy’s grin spreads impossibly wide, rows upon rows of razor teeth glinting crimson in the gloom. 

My heart pounds like thunder against my ribs, wild, erratic, and painful.

Murphy draws a clawed finger along the delicate skin of my inner arm, the razor sensation of it making me jerk against my tightening restraints.

I feel the sharp pain growing from every point his cold fingers brush my skin, accompanied by the hot, wet sensation of what I know is blood pouring freely from my veins.

Through my now familiar agony, I drag my gaze up to the dark soulless pits where his eyes should be just in time to see his jaw snap open impossibly wide and clamp down on my neck.

I jerk out of my dream so fast that I crack my head against the headboard, the sound reverberating out my open bedroom door and through the labyrinthine halls of the warehouse. 

I take no notice of it though as I wince and sit upright, swinging my legs out from under the covers and planting them on the cool wooden floors of my room. Carefully I touch the spot where I hit my head, wincing when I find it tender. 

That will definitely bruise by the morning, I think to myself.

I’m shaking, I notice as I bring my hand down from my aching head. I clench my fist to calm my fingers, but my whole arm shakes, so instead I tuck it against my stomach in a further effort to be still, but my whole body shakes with fear and adrenaline and I can do nothing to ease the turbulent storm tossing around inside my head. 

I sigh and close my eyes against the emotions that are consuming me. It’s been months, and I had hoped that by now I would be over it. 

Why can’t I move past this? 

The surrounding room does not reflect the tempest inside, and I allow myself to draw comfort from the soft familiarity of it. Cozy, like my apartment back in town. All warm colours, collected memories, and mismatching furniture.

I’d brought a few of my more cherished items from my apartment to the warehouse as I gradually began to spend more time here, for reasons that I chose not to acknowledge. They were fond memories mostly. Gifts and souvenirs from outings with friends and family. Well, what family I had left anyways.

Through the soft, blue tinted gloom, my eyes land on the soft ducky prize Ava had won at the carnival back in the spring. The familiar sight of it sitting guard on my night stand makes the edges of my mouth quirk upwards. Though it’s fleeting, and I find myself lowering my head back into my hands, continuing to shiver. My tired muscles begin to ache their protest.

His laughter continues to echo in my thoughts, and I scrunch my eyes shut tighter in an effort to block out the noise in vain. 

It’s not real, he’s gone.

I’m so lost in the memory of what happened, what he did to me, and how it felt to be so powerless against him, that I don’t notice the figure that’s appeared in my doorway.

“Detective?” A familiar voice calls softly into my room.

My head snaps up so fast that it brings back the ache of my earlier clash with the headboard. I wince, rubbing at the newly formed bump as I take in the sight of Ava standing stiffly — as she does — with one hand gripping the door frame. 

The lack of light does nothing to diminish her demanding presence or her beauty. Moonlight filters in through my open window, illuminating her silhouette and softening her usually hardened features. Her eyes, a cool green, now dark in the lowlight. Their usual ice nowhere to be seen, replaced instead with thinly veiled worry.

I notice she’s not wearing her usual daytime clothes, and is instead dressed in the much less formal attire of a loose fitting tank top, and lighter grey sweatpants. There’s lettering down the legs of them, but it’s too dark to see and I’m too tired to care. Too caught up in how casual she looks and how it all drapes loosely over her, and I think this must be what she sleeps in. Her blonde hair hangs loosely around her face, brushing the bare skin of her shoulders. I rarely see her with her hair down. It makes her seem less like a statue and more like a living, breathing being. 

It’s not all that different from my flannel pyjama pants and old Wayhaven PD shirt I’m in. My own hair free of its usual partial ponytail, and continually falling into my eyes. I doubt that I look even half as graceful about it as she does, though. 

“Ava.” I find myself whispering back to her, and then I clear my throat and sit a little straighter. “Do you need something?”

Ava’s eyes flit up from where they’d been trained on my hands, which had become balled into the fabric of the bedsheets at my side when I noticed her, trying to quickly hide the shake of them.

“I came to check if you were alright.” 

I force a small smile, and nod. “Of course.” I reply, though my voice is more hoarse than I would like it to be. “Why?” 

Ava shifts her weight so that she’s not leaning quite so heavily on the door frame. “I heard your heart- I heard a noise.” 

I frown, noticing how she is very slightly out of breath as if she had run here. 

Ava’s expression hardens, and her eyes flit away at her stumble and I find myself admiring her profile as she scans my bedroom for dangers I know only exist in my memories tonight.

“Yeah, I just banged my head. No need to worry though, you should see the other guy.” I reply, thumbing over my shoulder at the headboard and grinning. 

“I see.” She nods and I think I see a flicker of amusement at my sad attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but she doesn’t withdraw back into the hallway like I thought she might.

“Are you sure you don’t need something?” I ask, bringing my arm back down from over my shoulder and resting my hand over the scar Murphy had left on my forearm. 

“No.”

I nod, unsure how to respond. My thumb tracing over the slightly raised tissue on the otherwise unmarked skin of my arm.

I hear the slow drip of my blood in Murphy's mouth repeating itself in sinister whispers between my thoughts.

Ava continues to stand almost awkwardly in my doorway. She still refuses to look at me, but I know she’s noticed where my hands are because I know that she rarely misses anything. 

“Do you want to come in?” I ask finally, still unable to completely shake the fearful tilt in my voice. 

She finally snaps her attention back to me, so fast it’s almost unnerving. Almost. I’d gotten used to the quickness of Unit Bravo’s movements. 

Ava seems to hesitate then, so I pat the spot next to me on the bed as further invitation. 

That seems to be enough for her, and she finally steps into the room. Halting only to close my door as the sounds of Farah and Morgan bickering down the hall grew louder. I hadn’t even noticed the noise until now. 

I wonder, absently, if Farah has tried to palm off her laundry on Morgan again. 

Ava makes her way across the short space between the edge of my bed and the door, and sits down stiffly next to me. There’s space between us, and I know it’s only a few inches but it may as well be miles. 

I swallow and drop my gaze back down to the floor, following the flowing patterns in the wood grain with my eyes. 

Ava continues to say nothing, and eventually the steady sound of her breathing next to me  begins to soothe my nerves. Finally, the stuttering beat in my chest begins to settle, and I let out a soft breath of relief.

She seems to relax a little too. I glance up to find her looking at me. 

“Murphy.” I manage, and she quietly nods. Waiting for me to continue. “I- he just-“

I take a frustrated and shaky breath and draw my fingers through my hair, unsure of how to put it into words. I notice how Ava’s eyes track the motion, but she says nothing. 

“I can’t stop reliving it.” I finally manage. “I close my eyes, and he’s always there. It was just. More vivid than usual tonight, I guess.” 

It’s a lie, a bad one at that. They’re always vivid and jarring and leave me feeling dark in their wake.

I find myself shrugging it off, and Ava’s expression softens— albeit only slightly. I wonder if she’s capable of being more than slight and controlled about any emotion she expresses. Other than stubbornness, of course.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I continue, forcing back a small smile. 

She doesn’t look convinced. Guilt cracks her softening expression open just a little further. I know she blames herself for not being able to protect me from him. I never felt that she should, though. Murphy fought dirty. DMB, surprise daytime thralls, and a quick dose of my blood had made for a quick takedown and kidnapping. 

I allow silence to fill the space between us again, but too tired, too relieved to have her here to look away. She watches back, and I notice how occasionally her eyes begin to drift downwards towards my mouth and back up again.

Ava nods suddenly, a quick downwards jerk of her chin, eyes flitting instead to the door. “Are you afraid of us— of vampires?” She asks in a softer voice than her usual, and the tiny catch of her breath on the word ‘us’ tells me she doesn't truly mean ‘us’ at all. “It would be … understandable if you are.”

She’s asked me this before. I get the distinct impression she’s waiting for me to say yes. 

“Never.” My answer is quick, and I see relief in her expression, though it’s quickly hidden away again. “I could never be afraid of you.” 

I know she will choose to believe I mean all of Unit Bravo. I know that in this moment, I’m only speaking about her. I know that she knows it too.

I’ve been asked this question many times since discovering the team’s secret, by many people. I’ve never been afraid of them. Or any supernaturals really, except for Murphy. But not of demons, or of fae, or of her.

“I still feel that you should be, Detective.” Ava replies after the silence continues for just a little too long. 

“Why should I be?” I ask, quirking a brow up at her. 

“I- we could kill you if we wished. Your life would go out and you would be lost to me— to us.” 

“But you wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“You cannot know that, Detective.” 

“I do, though.” 

Ava frowns. I watch her jaw work as she struggles to further her argument, but eventually she seems to let it go. It surprises me, because Ava is. Well, Ava. She doesn’t back down.

“What makes you so sure of … us?” 

The edge of my mouth twitches upwards a little at this, but it’s gone just as quickly. A new ache forms in my chest, familiar and pointing desperately in the direction of my friend and teammate. 

“You make me feel safe.” I shrug.

“Detective-“ she starts, but I cut her off. 

“Cameron.” 

She sighs, a short sound. Her jaw once again working, “Cameron.” 

I smile. 

She opens her mouth to continue but closes it again, seemingly deciding against whatever she wanted to say.

“Are you afraid of me?” The words tumble out before I can weigh the consequences. Ava doesn’t have a stellar reputation for sticking through serious conversation when it came to feelings. I wait for her to tell me goodnight and leave through my door, maybe breaking it on her way out for good measure. 

Ava stiffens and her expression hardens. “How could I be afraid of you? You’re a human.”

“I dunno, I could probably take you if I really set my mind to it.” I grin at her.

Ava’s surprised laugh lightens the room just a bit. It’s small, a breath, a whisper. It almost doesn’t count as a laugh, but I know that it must because the sound fills all the darkened corners of my chest. Makes me feel warm, and light, and my heart aches with emotion.

“You could not.” She retorts, the edge of her mouth tilting upwards a fraction of an inch.

“I could!” I insist, “but I would never. I would never hurt you.”

Ava’s momentary lighthearted expression fades away again, and I know she understands what I’ve said. She’s silent for a long, contemplative moment. 

“You could.” She breathes finally.

“I know.” I breathe back.

I clear my throat quietly and force my attention back onto the floor. 

“You should get some rest.” Ava says, like she was trying to be decisive about it, but her voice doesn't hold her usual conviction. 

I look to my other side, at my tangled sheets and scattered pillows. A cold breeze blows in through my open window and makes goosebumps rise on my arms. It may be summer, but it’s early summer and the chill hasn’t quite left the nights yet.

My fingers trace the scar again.

I can only bring myself to sigh and reply in a heavy voice. “Yeah.” 

I feel Ava shift next to me, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her flexing her fingers as though she wants to reach out. 

I wish that she would. 

Murphy’s inhuman laugh echoes through my thoughts again and I visibly wince and put my head back into my hands. Trying to force away the thoughts. 

“Dete-“ a pause. “Cameron.” 

I force myself upright and nod to her, miraculously finding the energy to smile. It feels heavy and fake, and she doesn’t believe me. But I do it anyway.

Her eyebrows furrow at me from where she’s changed positions. Now standing directly in front of me. 

I open my mouth to tell her I’m okay, that it’s fine. It’s only a dream after all, and she can go back to doing whatever it is she was doing before I disturbed her. 

“Please stay.” I plead instead, barely a murmur.

I expect her to bristle, to grow stiff and turn to stone. To tell me she can’t again, like in the library. But she surprises me. Her expression grows slightly warmer. 

“If you wish.” 

Her lips soften into an almost smile, but not quite. Though strangely, it’s enough for me. Butterflies come to life and awaken my insides. I almost smile back. 

Ava gestures at my bed again, more insistently this time. I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her, eager to dispel the feeling of making my fears known. Ava sighs at me, but I can tell she’s amused. 

I scoot backwards onto my bed again and bring my legs back up onto the mattress and pull my duvet over my lower half again. Twisting around to fix my pillows, then leaning back against the headboard. Ava watches my actions, nodding when she’s satisfied. 

Her eyes glance to my side, at the empty half of the bed. They linger there for a moment, then move inwards to the rest of my room. Past my lacking bookshelf and the small pile of clothes I had been too lazy to fold before I went to bed. Landing finally on the cushioned seat over by the second window in the farthest corner of my room. 

My heart sinks a little as her gaze lingers there for a long minute, clearly lost in thought. She opens her mouth as though to say something, raising a hand to gesture at the chair. 

“Farah broke it.” I blurt, interrupting her. 

If Ava could be startled, this would be it. Her face whips around to me with her eyebrows raised in question. 

I decide to stick to my terrible lie. “Yeah, the legs are super loose. We got a little overzealous with paper airplanes the other day.” 

Ava’s expression sinks into an unimpressed one, and it slowly dawns on me that the chair doesn’t exactly have legs. It sits almost directly against the floor. 

I stare back at her, my expression unwavering. 

She sighs heavily and glances back at the empty spot next to me. She doesn’t confront me on my poor excuse. 

I remember, suddenly, that she’s wearing sleepwear. 

“Oh, uh.” I wince at my own selfishness, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. Were you planning on sleeping tonight?”

“I was considering it. But I can do without.”

Guilt rolls in my stomach like a hot stone, and I frown at her. 

I find myself babbling. “You know what, it’s okay. You can go and sleep. I’ll be okay. Really.” 

Ava looks disappointed for a moment, or at least I think that she does. It’s gone so fast, and it’s so dark that I’m not entirely sure I saw anything at all. 

She seems to ignore my sudden babbling though, and looks to my bookshelf. Pacing over to it and scanning its meagre contents. 

I bite my lip, watching her and waiting to see what she will decide. Letting out a breath when she turns to me and asks, “what do you suggest?”

“What?” 

“I will read while you sleep. I’m interested in knowing what you like- what you have here on your shelf. Your collection, I mean.” She gestures with a hand towards my books. Not acknowledging her stumble. 

“Oh.” I murmur, and slip back out from under my covers to join her. She seems exasperated that I’ve gotten back out of bed, but she doesn’t comment. 

I kneel down to one of the lowest shelves and run my fingers over the spines until I feel the most worn edges of the collection. I tug it free and stand up again, holding it out to her with two hands. 

“Here.” 

Ava looks down at the worn out cover of one of my favourite books. 

“Sherlock Holmes?” She asks, one of her eyebrows jerking upwards at me. It feels dangerously close to a tease as she takes the book from me.

“And the Hound of the Baskervilles.” I nod, grinning at her and tapping the cover. 

“You’re a detective.” 

“Yeah, and?” 

“You read Sherlock Holmes?” 

“You’ve read Dracula.” I retort, placing my hands on my hips. 

She opens her mouth to retort, then closes it again. Nodding in defeat. “Touché.” 

Smiling at her, I spin on my heel and head back over to my warm bed. The cold of the wooden floor had sent a chill up my legs and into my spine. I tuck myself back under my covers and sigh as my preserved body heat brings warmth back into my toes.

Ava followed me, although with more grace than my ‘cold feet’ dance would suggest of me. 

She hesitates at the opposite edge of my bed before settling in next to me. Though she doesn't get under the covers, which I frown at. 

“What?” She asks, frowning back at me.

“Aren’t you cold?” I gesture to my open window and then to her tank top.

She glances at the window, and I see just for a moment a quiver run over her shoulders. As though she’s been attempting to hide it. She’s probably been cold this entire time, I realize.

“Yes.” She admits, though I suspect that pulling a tooth would have been easier for her. 

I stare at her until she almost growls at me, and slides her legs begrudgingly under the covers. I smirk triumphantly over at her, and settle deeper into the blankets. 

Ava opens my book in her lap, fingers spread over the pages to keep it open on the first page. “Why don’t you just close the window? Would that not be more comfortable?”

“I like sleeping in the cold. It means I can bundle up in a heavy blanket. Or, uh. Share a bed without getting too hot.” 

Ava’s jaw tightens, but she nods. 

I try to tear my eyes away from her silhouette, outlined by the pale moonlight from behind. Detailing her striking features in luminescent silver. I find myself tracing the outline of her face over and over again. Memorizing it. 

“Get some rest.” Her voice is softer now, less demanding than before. “I will stay here, as you asked.”

“Okay.” I murmur softly in return. I allow myself one last glance at her profile, gazing down at the pages of my book. Then I roll over onto my side, back to her, and settle into my pillow.

There’s plenty of room on the bed, but I manoeuvre myself as subtly as I can so that we’re almost touching anyways. She doesn’t move away, despite the fact she has the space to. I tell myself it’s to help with the cold.

Ava’s quiet breathing and the heat I can feel from her on my back work together to soothe me quickly into sleep.

—

Ava does her best to remain still as to not wake the detective who is now, finally, sleeping by her side.  

She had planned on sleeping tonight, was exhausted in fact and in dire need of a few hours of rest. But just as she’d been about to crawl into her bed, the crash from the detectives room had torn her immediately away from any thoughts on sleep. 

She hadn’t even hesitated, she’d sped out of her room, flinging open the door as she’d gone, and headed directly to Cameron’s room. 

As she’d grown closer, she could hear the erratic and unsteady heartbeat. She didn’t even notice Nat attempting to reach out to her as she sped around the corner. If she had paused, she might have heard Nat telling her it was just a nightmare and not her worst fears manifesting.

But when she’d arrived, Cameron had been fine. Physically, anyways. Coming upon the scene of Cameron with their head in their hands, shaking, breath hitching in their throat though… It had taken all of Ava’s willpower not to rush into the room and slip her arm around the detectives shoulders.  

Then, seeing their expression when they noticed Ava’s presence had almost shattered what will she had managed to muster. 

Now the detective —Cameron— lay much too close. Not touching, but she could feel their heat. Hear their heart as it thrummed its slow and regular rhythm.

She didn’t want to leave Cameron alone, and had been worryingly relieved when they’d pleaded for her to stay. A gesture that had made her own heart trip and squeeze with hardly suppressed longing. A feeling she had been fighting a losing battle against since meeting the detective in their office all those months ago. 

So, here she lay. Cameron’s book in hand, reading through the classic mystery with her detective’s steady heart to keep her company. 

The detective, not hers. She must stop thinking this way. 

Cameron sighs quietly in their sleep next to her and Ava fights the urge to glance over. Forcing herself to remain focused on the pages. She was interested after all —although she shouldn't be— about the detective’s hobbies and interests. She didn’t get to learn a lot about what they did in their free time while they weren’t working together.

Sometimes she thinks to ask, wants to, but never does. 

Her fingers tighten on the edges of the book. 

She wants to learn everything about them. Everything they deign to share and more.

Cameron shifts next to her, rolling onto their back. Their leg stretches and grazes against Ava’s. She almost jerks her knee to get away from the heat of their skin. But she doesn’t. 

Ava glances up, she can’t see through the duvet over them both, but she can see the vague shapes of both their legs. Cameron is soft and warm, and their presence fills the spaces between her ribs even when they’re sound asleep. So different from the usual empty chill of her own bed. 

She doesn’t mind the emptiness of her own room, but she could easily come to prefer this.

Without thinking, she allows her eyes to travel up the slopes and curves of the detective’s sleeping form. Their face is tilted gently towards their chest, facing Ava. Relaxed. Free of their omnipresent playful smirk. Free of the fear and pain that had been hiding shallowly beneath the surface of their facade through their talk this evening. So at peace. She’d never seen them like this before, and she drew a breath to quell the balling emotion in her throat.

Ava found herself counting the freckles on their face. There were more than she thought. Every time she thought she’d found them all, she’d find another. Dotting their skin like stars in an evening sky, revealing more of the infinite universe the further the sun sank below the horizon.

They sighed in their sleep, their breath disturbing strands of auburn hair that had fallen across their eyes. She almost reached out to brush them away, but restrained herself— though only barely.

Their hair was almost always in their face, a reality that often irked Ava irrationally. She would say it was because it hinders their vision and reduces efficiency. But it doesn’t, Cameron always seems to see just fine. The terrifying truth of it was that she just wanted to see their eyes, to have a chance to brush her fingers over their skin. To be close enough to see every fleck of copper in their iris’ and count them like the stars on their skin.

Sometimes if Ava found herself in a particularly serendipitous moment, she would glance at the detective at just the right moment and see the sunlight reflecting in their eyes, turning them the colour of rich liquid honey caught in the final rays of daylight.

She frowns at the thought, scolding herself harshly for thinking this way. Still, Ava can’t seem to pull her eyes away. Her gaze drifts along their face, committing it to memory again and again. She finds her gaze settling on the scar on their lower lip. Cameron had been reluctant to explain what had happened when Farah had prodded about it. Later, she overheard the detective explaining to Farah in private about how they’d once had a lip piercing but Bobby had ripped it out by accident, forever marring their mouth. Jealousy had burned a gaping hole through her insides until Cameron further explained that it was during their rather unceremonious breakup, when Bobby threw her phone at them during the fight. It had caught the edge, and torn the piercing right out. Cameron had joked that the relationship ended in blood-letting, and allowed the subject to move forward when the mystery of it all disappeared and Farah decided it was time to go have another paper airplane competition. 

The thought still turns her stomach, and she feels her jaw clench at the idea of that insolent reporter ever having touched the detective. Her hand leaves her lap against her will and is hovering near Cameron’s face hesitantly, wishing only to run her thumb over the scar and feel the softness of their mouth under it. The intense desire to press her lips softly against the subtle divot almost consumes her though, and she whips her hand away and returns her attention back to the novel’s pages as though she’d been burned. 

Enough, she chastises. Control yourself.

She takes a deep breath, and begins once again to gradually make her way through the pages. Hours pass by without much incident, thankfully. But between the late hour, her own weariness, the warmth of Cameron’s body and the soothing thrum of their heart, Ava is struggling to stay awake. She’s nearing the final pages of Cameron’s book and fighting to keep her eyes focused. She’d guessed exactly who the culprit had been long ago, but still wanted to finish it. Telling herself it was because she was interested-- and she was. Truly. But some hidden piece of her just wanted to make Cameron happy. 

Ava is just in the process of closing the book and setting it on the side table to be put away later, when Cameron’s heart trips and becomes erratic as though they’d been startled. She whips her gaze around and frowns at the twitching of Cameron’s face in concern. Their face has turned sideways, half hidden by the pillow but Ava doesn’t need an unobstructed view to see the growing distress. A quiet whimper escapes their mouth and their whole body tenses as though in pain. Ava shifts onto her side and balances her weight on her elbow, reaching with her free hand to gently press on Cameron’s shoulder. She can feel the taut muscles under her palm. She isn’t sure if she should wake them up, or further attempt to communicate that they are okay. “You’re alright.” She murmurs softly, gently massaging their shoulder. “You’re safe.” Ava sighs her relief as Cameron’s face begins to relax, only to immediately tense again as their eyes flutter open. “Ava?” Their voice is rough with sleep, and barely comprehensible through their grogginess. She says nothing, regretting accidentally waking them. Cameron sighs and drags their sleep heavy gaze over Ava’s face, and for a moment they look like they’re going to allow sleep to pull them back. Instead, much to Ava’s surprise, Cameron rolls onto their side and sluggishly moves until they are pressed almost completely against Ava. Tucking themselves against her chest and pressing their face against her collar. Their fingers gently gripping the fabric of her top, effectively pinning Ava to the spot. “Detective-” She starts, but falls silent when she feels their breath. Hot, and slow against the skin of her neck as they sigh in contentment. They’ve already fallen back into sleep. Ava’s iron will crumbles faster than she ever could have imagined, and she allows herself to slowly relax into the bed. In a moment of weakness, she allows herself to rest her arm over Cameron’s waist and pull them closer still. They fit against her as though they were two lost puzzle pieces who had finally found their match-- beginning to become an image that made sense. She rests her head against the cool pillow, still unsure. Every voice of reason she has ever had all screaming that she should leave, but she doesn’t. Not with Cameron’s fingers caught in the fabric of her shirt, not with their warmth chasing away the chill she’d been ignoring all night. Their heart settles back into its slow, regular rhythm and Ava allows the breath she had been holding to escape. Dawn is nearing the horizon, but the room is still dark. And Ava knows that she needs to leave, but she doesn’t. Her detective’s scent floods her senses, heavy and familiar, and she feels her mouth twitch in a contented smile.