He leaned his head back slightly as if the air above him held a scent stronger than the lane itself, as if something invisible had drifted through this place and lodged in his senses. His nostrils flared once. His breath drew in slow and deep, not hurried, not startled, but reverent in a way that did not belong in a post-apocalyptic lane.
Like someone who had just smelled the most heavenly dish in a world that had forgotten flavor.
Ivan's posture tightened.
Voss's gaze narrowed.
Leaf Team's eyes remained calm, but something in their attention shifted, a quiet click into place, the kind that meant instincts were waking up.
None of them spoke.
No one asked what he smelled.
No one had to.
Because the scent wasn't here in a body, It was here in residue, on Ivan's clothing, on Voss's skin.
In the faint warmth that clung to men who had been close to Felicity only minutes ago.
The man's eyes did not widen.
His expression did not change.
