But something was different about the room. The hairs on her arms raised, her senses on alert. A familiar scent lingered in the air: acani berries mixed with a musky, earthy smell. Holt. But he wasn’t there. Zylah looked at the table by the window, where a brown paper bag sat. She didn’t have to open it to know it was a canna cake inside. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she made her way into the bathroom to freshen up. Some of the heaviness she’d felt in the last few weeks dissipated knowing he was safe; a weight she hadn’t even realised she’d been carrying.
