I lift the butter cookie to my lips, and a bitter odor catches in my nostrils. The cookie’s underbaked soft spot has also left a sticky residue on my fingertips. I study the cookie, its pistachio-green hue and lunar dough, and bring it to my nose to take a cautious sniff. The acrid chemical reek doesn’t seem altogether foreign. It takes me a second to recognize the smell of the disinfectant that Seif used to clean out the aviary.
