Maelys's message stayed open on the screen. I just received a tape in front of my door. Your name is on it. And it smells like fig. Selene read the sentence three times. Not because she did not understand. Because she understood it too well. Someone had just moved the trap. The room without a lock was not the center. The shop was not the center. Ashfall itself was maybe only a set, an open jaw they had been pushed into so they would fight beneath the chandeliers while the real hand worked somewhere else. Maelys. They had touched Maelys. Not physically. Not yet. But that was often how clean monsters began: they did not take the person right away. They left an object outside her door. They forced her to understand her address was not a secret. They entered her sleep before entering her home. Selene looked up at Eden. - We are going. He did not answer immediately. Bad sign. - Selene. - No. - You are not leaving Ashfall now. - She received a tape with my name on it. - Exactly. - Do not start. Eden had that particular calm that made her want to break something against him. It was not natural calm. It was violence on its knees, held by the throat. - They want you to leave the building. - And you want me to stay here while they get closer to my best friend? - I want you not to run into a corridor designed for you. - Adorable. Very metaphorical. We are going. He took one step toward her. She lifted her hand at once. Stop. He stopped. Even now. Especially now. - Maelys is being watched, he said. Two men in the street. One at the end of the hallway. No suspicious movement since the drop. - Except the drop itself. - Yes. - So you just proved my point. Eden breathed in slowly. Then held out his hand. - Call her. Selene tapped the icon. Maelys answered immediately. - If you are about to tell me this tape is a romantic gift from your mafioso, I am moving into a cave. - Are you all right? - I am wonderfully well for someone who just found a cursed object in front of her door while three human wardrobes pretend they are not watching me. - Do not touch the tape. Silence. - Too late. Selene closed her eyes. - Maelys. - I touched it with a dish towel. I am not completely stupid. Just curious enough to be your friend. Eden took the phone from Selene's hands, but he put it on speaker in front of her instead of claiming it for himself. - Maelys, this is Eden. - Ah. The premium sociopath. I was just hoping not to speak to you. - Is the tape open? - No. - Scent? - Fig at first. But now that it is in my living room, there is something else. Heavier. Like a white flower trying to ruin my evening. Selene and Eden looked at each other. - Tuberose, Selene whispered. The chapter had just changed scent.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Eden agreed to leave only after turning the trip into a military operation. Two cars ahead. One behind. Signal jamming. Route changed three times. Selene could have mocked him. She did anyway. - We are going to Maelys's place, not overthrowing a government. - You would be surprised how similar the two become when my mother is involved. She studied his profile in the intermittent glow of the streetlights. He had put his mask back on. Not for her. For outside. At Ashfall, the mask was a symbol. In the city, it became an absence. No one could identify a face they had never truly seen. - Are you afraid? she asked. - Yes. - For Maelys? - Yes. - For me? - More. She did not know what to do with that answer. He did not say more the way people compare two values. He said more like a sentence passed down. The car turned into a residential street. Maelys's building appeared: beige facade, narrow balconies, warm light behind two windows. A normal neighborhood. Almost insulting after Ashfall. Selene got out before a guard could open her door. Eden followed. - Stay behind me. - You are exhausting. - Alive too. - For now. One of Eden's men opened the entrance for them. The stairwell smelled of damp stone, old mail, and cleaning product. Nothing luxurious. Nothing Ashfall. The banality of it almost made Selene want to cry.
Maelys opened before they knocked. She was holding a frying pan. Selene blinked. - Seriously? - I do not have a bat. I improvise. Maelys looked at Eden. - You, stay away from my furniture. It is emotionally more stable than you. - I will remain standing, Eden said. - I authorize you to use the doormat. Selene stepped inside and hugged Maelys. Not for long. Just enough to make sure she was whole. Maelys whispered in her ear: - You stink of mafia and bad decisions. Selene gave a shaky laugh. - You smell like nonstick pan and stress. - It is my olfactory signature. On the living-room table, the tape waited inside a white dish towel. Small. Black. A label stuck on top. SELENE - IF THE FIG IS NO LONGER ENOUGH. And in the air, beneath the remaining fig, tuberose was slowly rising. Heavy. White. Indecent. Like an open flower in a room too small for it.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Maelys owned an old video cassette player because, according to her, "objects that survived the 2000s deserve respect." Eden checked the tape before allowing it into the machine. No explosive residue. No obvious mechanism. No active chip. - It can still contain a virus if it is digitized, he said. Maelys stared at him. - It is a VHS, Dracula. Mostly it is going to contain trauma in low resolution. Selene sat on the edge of the sofa. Eden stayed near the door. Again. Always at the right distance since she had demanded it. The problem was that this distance was starting to become a presence in itself. Maelys pressed play. Static on the screen. Crackling. Then Claire Moreau's face appeared. Selene stopped breathing. Her mother was younger than the memories death had frozen. Tired, yes. Hair tied back, red eyes, a cut at the corner of her mouth. But alive. Alive in a brutal, almost unbearable way. - My Selene, Claire said. The voice entered the room like a ghost that had finally found a throat. Selene lifted a hand to her mouth. Maelys immediately placed a hand on her knee. Eden did not move. Claire looked off camera, then back into the lens. - If you are watching this, it means the fig was not enough. I am sorry. You are going to hear many things about your father. Some will be true. Others will be built to make the true things impossible to look at. The image trembled. Claire inhaled. - Adrien served monsters. He helped them hide things. He made scents for doors, rooms, dead people. I will not lie to make him look better. But he also tried to destroy what he had created. Too late. Badly. By putting all of us in danger. But he tried. Tears rose in Selene's eyes. She held them back. Not now. Claire leaned toward the camera. - Tuberose is the worst of the codes. Not because it speaks of desire. Desire is not dirty. The worst thing is what clean men made of it: rooms where consent could be bought, recorded, distorted, turned back against those who entered. Irina wanted to burn those archives. So did I. Eden closed his eyes for one second. Selene saw it. Claire continued: - If tuberose comes back to you, do not only look for who loves you or who wants you. Look for who owns the images. The tape crackled. Then Claire's voice dropped. - Ashfall's Tuberose salon is not a bedroom. It is a mouth. And someone is still speaking in it. The image cut out.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `No one spoke. Not even Maelys. Then Selene stood. - We are going back to Ashfall. Maelys gave an incredulous laugh. - Excuse me? Your mother literally just said it is a mouth full of creepy secrets, and your conclusion is "open wide"? Selene looked at Eden. - Where is the Tuberose salon? He did not answer fast enough. - Eden. - In the private wing. - The one under the ballroom? - Lower. Maelys lifted the frying pan. - Fantastic. Even lower. Always a great sign in stories with mafiosos.
Selene refused to let Maelys come. Maelys refused to refuse. Eden settled the question in the most unbearably efficient way possible: he had Maelys driven to a secured apartment with Livia, two guards, and the original tape. Selene would have protested if Maelys had not finally said: - Go open your demonic mouth-room. I am going to insult Livia until she loves me. Livia, on the phone, answered simply: - She may try. In the car on the way back, Selene did not look at Eden. She looked at the wet city, the headlights, the reflections on the road. Her mother on the screen. Her voice. The Tuberose salon. The images. Consent bought, recorded, distorted. She felt nausea, then rage. - Does your current Ashfall still use that salon? she asked. - Yes. The answer struck her. She turned toward him. - Are you serious? - Yes. - After what you know? - I transformed it. - Transformed it? - Explicit contracts. Checks. Mandatory safewords. No cameras. No archive. No access without written and verbal consent. Livia supervises the lists. People who break the rules never come back. Selene gave a cold laugh. - And you think that cleans what happened there? - No. - Then why keep the room? He looked at the rain. - Because Irina said a place of shame does not stop existing when you close the door. It only becomes more useful to the people who know where it is. Selene fell silent. She did not like that answer. She could not fully reject it either. - So you use the monster while pretending you have trained it. - Yes. - And you are proud? - No. - What are you then? He took a long time to answer. - Responsible. The word was not beautiful. But it sounded true. The car stopped before a secondary entrance to Ashfall. Before getting out, Eden turned to her. - You are not obliged to enter that salon. - I know. - If you enter, you can leave at any second. - I know. - If the scent, the images, or I make you confused, you say Lily. She looked at him. - You include yourself in the list of dangers? - Always. Selene unbuckled her seat belt. - Good. She opened the door. - At least you are lucid about your decorative function.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The Tuberose salon was beneath the red room, behind an unnamed door. No plaque. No number. Only a biometric lock and a small white circle engraved into the black wood. A flower. Selene smelled it before Eden even opened the door. Tuberose. But not the one in the vials. This one was slower, warmer, almost bodily. The scent of skin beneath an expensive shirt, of flowers crushed between black sheets, of polite danger. Eden placed his hand on the reader. The door opened.
The room was beautiful. That was what made it terrible. Selene would have preferred a dirty cellar, a metal bed, crude chains, something that announced monstrosity clearly. Instead, she found a luxury suite sunk in low light: black walls, heavy curtains, a deep sofa, a coffee table, a bookcase, an enormous bed separated by a dark veil, thick carpet swallowing every step. On a console, a Tuberose candle was already burning. - Who lit it? Selene asked. Eden went rigid. - No one should have. The sentence was enough. They were not the first to enter. Selene searched for the alert button under her sleeve by reflex. Eden saw. - Good. - Do not congratulate me for being properly afraid. - I am congratulating you for not pretending otherwise. She stepped into the room. The silence was too soft.
- Where were the cameras before? she asked. Eden pointed to the moldings. - There. There. Behind the mirror. In the lamp. Some were removed before I took control. Others after. - Are you sure none remain? - No. She looked at him. - Bad answer. - Honest one. He took a small detector from his pocket. - I have this room checked every week. But if someone used an old Veyr access or an offline system, I would rather not lie to you. Selene inhaled slowly. Tuberose. The flower invaded everything. She understood why this scent had been chosen. It blurred categories. It made fear more carnal, danger closer, silence thicker. It was not a drug. It did not need to be. Human beings knew how to lose themselves alone when a room gave them permission to call it desire. - Put out the candle, she said. Eden did it immediately.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The scent remained. Like crimes. Putting out the flame was not enough.
They searched for twenty minutes. Not exactly together. In parallel. Eden checked the walls, mirrors, moldings. Selene followed the smells. Scents did not lie less than people, despite what Eden liked to repeat. They lied differently. They covered, deflected, seduced. But when a scent was not in its place, it became more talkative than a frightened witness. The dominant tuberose hid something else. Heated metal. Electric dust. Old leather. And a cold rose. Valere. Selene stopped in front of the bookcase. - He came here. - Who? - Valere. Eden joined her. - Are you sure? - No. But his scent is here. Very faint. Too well placed to be accidental. She passed her fingers before the spines without touching them. - He wanted us to smell his absence. - That sounds like him. - Exhausting. - Also him. A row of old books carried legal titles. Commercial law. Estates. Property. Private contracts. Selene gave a short laugh. - Even the books here want to own someone. She pulled a volume at random. Nothing. A second. Nothing. Then a third, white binding, no title on the spine. A click. The bookcase unlocked. Not entirely. A simple secret drawer slid open in the base.
Inside: a black notebook, a hard drive, and a transparent envelope holding several memory cards. On the notebook, one word. TUBEROSE. Selene did not touch it right away. - It is too easy. - Yes. - So it is incomplete. - Or trapped. - Both can be true, she said. Eden looked at her. She lifted one finger. - Do not say anything. I officially remove that sentence from your mouth. He almost smiled. Almost. She picked up the notebook with a tissue. Inside were names. Not only clients. Judges. Elected officials. Police officers. Doctors. Dates. Room numbers. Margin notes: agreement, coercion, debt, usable evidence, to protect, to destroy. Selene felt her skin turn cold. - It is a blackmail register. Eden took the notebook. His face drained of color. - Old system. - Old? She turned a page. A recent date. Two weeks earlier. Selene looked up at him. - Very old, yes. Eden did not answer. Shame and rage crossed his face with almost equal violence. - I did not know. - I need that to be true. - It is. She wanted to believe him. Maybe that was the most dangerous part.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The hard drive contained no visible videos. Not at first. Only encrypted folders, sorted by scent. Berries. Roses. Fig. Tuberose. Lily. Eden called Livia on a secure line. - Black office. Now. Without Valere. Without the central network. Then he ended the call. Selene was still looking at the names in the notebook. Some annotations were too cold to bear. Consent obtained after family debt. Video usable if vote goes against us. Subject unstable; reputation to be ruined if necessary. She closed the notebook. - Your family did not only commit crimes. It manufactured realities. - Yes. - Someone refuses, and you turn that refusal into debt. She speaks, and you turn her voice into hysteria. She dies, and you turn her death into an accident. - Yes. - Stop saying yes as if that is enough. Eden remained still. - It is not enough. - No. She felt anger rise, but it had no shape. Not yet. Too vast. Too old. She did not know whether she wanted to cry, scream, hit something, flee, or open every file until she drowned in them. The tuberose, even extinguished, still clung to the air. She stood abruptly. - I want to leave. Eden immediately moved away from the door. - All right. She took three steps. Stopped. The bed behind the dark veil occupied the corner of her eye. Not because she wanted it to. Because the room had been built so no one could forget its function. Selene turned back. - How many people walked in here thinking they were choosing, when the rest had already been written for them? Eden's voice was low. - Too many. - And you kept the room. - Yes. She approached the veil and yanked it aside.
The bed appeared fully. Black. Perfect. Intact. Ridiculous. Obscene. Selene wanted to burn it. - Why not destroy it? - Because I thought I could reverse the symbol. - You thought? - Yes. - And now? Eden looked at the black notebook. - Now I know someone kept using it under my roof. - Valere. - Probably. - Your mother. - Maybe. - You. He lifted his eyes to her. She had said the word like an accusation, but not only that. A question. A fear. A limit. - Not like that, he said. - But you used it. - Yes. - For consensual scenes. - Yes. - In a room that was used to destroy consent. - Yes. She stared at him. - Do you understand why I do not know what to do with you? - Yes. This time, his yes was not a defense. It was surrender.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `Selene should have left. She knew it. The notebook had been found. The drive too. The room had delivered its first truth. Staying served no useful purpose. That was exactly why she stayed. Because everything, since her arrival at Ashfall, had been useful to other people. Her fear. Her memory. Her brother. Her scents. Her mother. Even her desire became a data point that the people around her seemed to read before she did. She was tired of being merely useful. She wanted to be dangerous differently. For herself. - Close the door, she said. Eden did not move. - No. The refusal, clean and sharp, surprised her. - Excuse me? - Not in this room. Not after what we just found. - You do not even know what I was going to ask. - Yes, I do. She moved closer to him. - You always think you know. - No. - Then why no? - Because I want you more than I should in a room that taught men to confuse desire with power. Because you are angry. Because you have just seen the names of people destroyed here. Because if I close this door, even with your consent, I will not know whether you are choosing me or choosing to take back a place that disgusts you. Selene stayed silent. Every sentence was a barrier. Every barrier might be right. She hated that. - You refuse to touch me so you can feel moral? - I refuse to touch you so I do not become an argument against you inside your own head. The sentence went in too deep. She looked away. She was furious. Not only at him. At the fact that he had understood. She wanted him to be simpler. More predatory. More obviously bad. She could have pushed him away, condemned him, saved herself from him by putting him in the box prepared for him. But Eden Veyr did something far more dangerous: sometimes, he resisted his own instincts. And that resistance created desire where threat alone would have created hatred. - I do not want them to keep this room, she said. - Then we destroy it. She looked up. - What? - We recover the evidence. Then we destroy it. - You said a place of shame does not disappear when you close the door. - No. But it can stop being rented by the hour to men who call themselves reformed. The blow he had dealt himself was deliberate. Selene saw it. - You are admitting you were wrong. - Yes. - Does that happen often? - With you, too often. She laughed. A small broken laugh, but real. Then she took a step toward him. - Not here, then. - No. - But not never. Eden's breathing changed. - Selene. - I am speaking. You are listening. He fell silent. - I do not want our first real time to be in a room made to dirty people's choices. I do not want to give them that. But I also do not want to pretend I do not want you because the context is monstrous. She swallowed. - I want you. It may be stupid. It is probably dangerous. But it is not theirs. Eden touched nothing. Not her. Not even the distance. - Then we will wait for a place that does not belong to them. - And if I do not like waiting? - I know. - Are you going to be correct again? - I am going to try. She looked at him. - I almost hate you for that. - Almost is enough for tonight. The tuberose suddenly seemed less suffocating. Not pure. Never pure. But less victorious.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The ventilation mouth was behind the bed. Of course. Not visible at first glance. Hidden by the veil, then by a black plate perfectly integrated into the wall. The kind of detail the eye avoids because the room gives it a thousand other things to look at. Eden tore the plate away with help from a technician. Behind it, a duct. And inside the duct, fastened with black wire: a small audio recorder. Old. Still active. Selene took it with gloves. - There is the mouth. Livia connected it. Several audio files appeared. The last one was dated the day before. Eden played it. At first, only breath. Then a woman's voice. Althea. - Eden will become attached to her because she will give him the illusion of being less like me. Another voice answered. Valere. - And if she refuses to sing? - Then we will give her someone to lose. Selene felt the room contract. Maelys. Noe. Eden. Valere continued: - The girl is more unstable than expected. - No, Althea said. She is exactly like her mother. She believes that looking a monster in the face will stop it from biting. A silence. Then: - And Eden? Althea gave a light laugh. - Eden always bites what he loves. We only have to wait until she offers him her hand. The file ended. No one in the room moved. Selene looked at Eden. He seemed carved from something harder than anger. - She knows you well, she said. - Yes. - She thinks you are going to destroy me. - Yes. - And you? The question was no longer a game. Eden looked at her. - I think that is precisely why I must leave you the possibility of going. The countdown on the screen changed. TUBEROSE VALIDATED. Selene gave a joyless laugh. - So we had to find the mouth. The technician went pale. - Next step: Roses. On the screen, an instruction appeared. THE TARGET MUST BE NAMED. Then a photograph. Maelys. Selene felt the world go white. Her phone vibrated at once. A message from Maelys. There is someone outside the door. Livia is not answering.
Eden had already drawn his weapon. Selene did not even need to speak. Roses had just chosen its target.
` }, { kind: "body", html: `The ventilation mouth was behind the bed. Of course. Not visible at first glance. Hidden by the veil, then by a black plate perfectly integrated into the wall. The kind of detail the eye avoids because the room gives it a thousand other things to look at. Eden tore the plate away with help from a technician. Behind it, a duct. And inside the duct, fastened with black wire: a small audio recorder. Old. Still active. Selene took it with gloves. - There is the mouth. Livia connected it. Several audio files appeared. The last one was dated the day before. Eden played it. At first, only breath. Then a woman's voice. Althea. - Eden will become attached to her because she will give him the illusion of being less like me. Another voice answered. Valere. - And if she refuses to sing? - Then we will give her someone to lose. Selene felt the room contract. Maelys. Noe. Eden. Valere continued: - The girl is more unstable than expected. - No, Althea said. She is exactly like her mother. She believes that looking a monster in the face will stop it from biting. A silence. Then: - And Eden? Althea gave a light laugh. - Eden always bites what he loves. We only have to wait until she offers him her hand. The file ended. No one in the room moved. Selene looked at Eden. He seemed carved from something harder than anger. - She knows you well, she said. - Yes. - She thinks you are going to destroy me. - Yes. - And you? The question was no longer a game. Eden looked at her. - I think that is precisely why I must leave you the possibility of going. The countdown on the screen changed. TUBEROSE VALIDATED. Selene gave a joyless laugh. - So we had to find the mouth. The technician went pale. - Next step: Roses. On the screen, an instruction appeared. THE TARGET MUST BE NAMED. Then a photograph. Maelys. Selene felt the world go white. Her phone vibrated at once. A message from Maelys. There is someone outside the door. Livia is not answering.
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