A Familiar Scent

The journal had barely left her hands since they'd unearthed it, Amara flipping through page after page as though afraid it might vanish. She barely slept, barely spoke. Her thoughts were consumed by one singular need: to piece together her mother's last days before the fire — before the disappearance that had rewritten her life.

Eli noticed the shadows forming under her eyes, the tremble in her fingers every time she turned a page. He didn't push. He stayed close — quiet support in a storm of unraveling truths.

That morning, as the golden light of dawn spilled through Thornridge Manor's east windows, Amara found herself walking through the hallway that led to the old study. She hadn't been in there since she was a child, and yet her feet knew the way.

The door creaked open under her hand.

The scent hit her before she even stepped inside — faint but undeniable.

Jasmine.

Her mother's perfume.

Her breath caught.

She looked around the study, eyes darting over the heavy desk, the tall shelves lined with untouched books, the fireplace cold and black. Everything looked undisturbed, as though time had been paused. But that scent — soft, floral, bittersweet — clung to the air like a memory.

Amara stepped farther in. Her hand trailed the edge of the desk until her fingers brushed a groove carved into the wood. A name.

Alina.Her mother's name.

She pressed into the groove, and something clicked.

A false bottom.

Heart racing, Amara slid the hidden panel open. Inside was a worn, leather-bound notebook wrapped in a silk scarf. A note was pinned to the scarf with a rusted hairpin.

If you ever come looking, my love — follow the scent. I'll be with you every step.

Amara swallowed a sob as she opened the notebook. Her mother's handwriting stared back at her. Not a journal — a confession. Alina's account of the months leading up to her disappearance.

She read.

They killed someone, Amara. Someone who knew too much. I didn't see the body, but I heard the panic. They were arguing — Darius and Uzo, your father. Something had gone wrong. They buried the evidence, and they buried their loyalty with it. That's when I knew — I could be next.

I made Nkem swear to hide you if anything happened to me. I wrote letters, planted clues. I used my perfume to lead the trail, because you always said it reminded you of the garden, of safety. You were five. Too young to understand. But I hoped one day... you'd remember.

A single tear rolled down Amara's cheek.

She did remember. The jasmine bushes near the garden. Her mother brushing her hair at twilight. Safety.

And now, her mother was still speaking to her — guiding her.

Eli's footsteps creaked behind her. He stopped in the doorway, sensing the gravity of what she'd found.

"She left this for me," Amara whispered.

"She knew you'd come back one day," he said softly. "She never stopped believing in you."

Amara looked up at him, the weight of years softening in her eyes.

"I have to follow this. All of it. No more fear. No more silence."

Eli nodded, stepping closer. "Then we do it together."

The scent of jasmine lingered, like a blessing.

And the ghosts of the past stirred as the truth clawed closer to the surface.