“I’ve dreamed of this moment so long,” he breathed. “I have, too,” she said against his chest, hugging him hard. Her scent was full of joy, but she was trembling. “Did they hurt you?” he asked gently. “No. They. . . . No, Perrin, they didn’t hurt me.” There were other smells mixed in with her joy, though, laced through it inextricably. The dull, aching scent of sadness and the greasy aroma of guilt. Shame, like thousands of hair-fine needles pricking. Well, the man was dead, and a woman had the right to keep her secrets if she wanted.
