The heavy door closes behind Dario with a sound like the lid of a coffin sealing shut.
Darkness swallows him whole.
Not the gentle darkness of a room settling into sleep—but something thicker. Heavier. The air is warm. Too warm. Fever-warm, like the body of something sleeping and dangerous.
Oleander pheromones hang in the air—sweet and poisonous, cloying and sharp. They press against him from every direction, settling on his shoulders like an invisible weight.
His face changes. The confidence cracks, just a little.
"Oh, god."
The whisper slips from his lips before he can stop it. Small. Human.
The secretary was right. This scent... now it's too much.
He runs a hand through his golden hair. Sweat already beads at his temple, trickling down the side of his face.
Dario, you can do this. The price they're paying for this job is insane. You can bear it. You've borne worse.
He steps forward.
Slow. Cautious. His feet sink into the thick carpet, the kind that swallows sound.
