Xavier tipped his head, studying me. “What does she smell of?” he asked Cameron. Cameron raised his head and inhaled deeply, his lips curving in a slow smile. “Cinnamon. The same as the lovely fragrance Imogen said Samkiel never brought her.” “You,” Imogen hissed, glancing at Cameron for confirmation before turning back to me. “You were the one who wore my face that day.” I held my hands up in mock surrender and wiggled my fingers in a small wave. “Guilty.”
