The scent curled around him like a ghost of something half-remembered, something intimate and unshakable. Blaise inhaled slow, deep—his usual unbothered demeanor fracturing under the weight of recognition.

Amortentia was supposed to be personal. A reflection of desire so raw, so undeniable, that it couldn’t be argued. And yet, the moment the aroma reached him, something in his stomach twisted.

It was familiar. Too familiar. A whisper of warmth that clung to the edges of his mind, something he’d brushed past a hundred times without thinking—until now.

His grip on the table tightened as realization set in, cold and unrelenting. It wasn’t just any scent. It was yours.

The way you lingered in the air when you walked by, the faint traces that clung to your quill, the intangible presence that was so uniquely you—and it had sunk into his bones without permission.

His chest constricted. Had it always been this obvious? Had he always been breathing you in without knowing?

And then, his gaze snapped up. Straight to you.

Oh, fuck.