Chapter 107: Tropic Prism

"She created Nocturne 11?" he asked curiously.

The perfumer nodded. "Her proudest creation. She instructed that it only be given to those who truly understand it. Most who come in are dazzled by what's already on the counter. That is the outer shell of Maison Silhouet. This is its soul."

Rex nodded, impressed. He hadn't expected so much history behind a bottle of perfume.

He brought the crystal vial of Nocturne 11 to his nose once more. The scent was captivating—velvety smoke, warm resins, a whisper of citrus at the top—but something still nagged at the edge of his perception. 

He spoke. "Maybe it's just me. But it feels like it's reaching for something that's just out of its grasp."

The perfumer didn't answer immediately. He stepped back to his workstation, long fingers moving with an artist's familiarity. He pulled down a few essences—aged labdanum, a rare blue myrrh resin, a gentle trace of heliotrope.