Hilary realized something important that morning.
Memory was no longer enough.
Love was no longer enough.
If she wanted to survive in a world without faces,
she needed a system.
She sat at the small breakfast table, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of tea.
The aroma steadied her—bergamot, faint honey, the ghost of lemon peel.
Gerard stood across from her.
She knew he was there not because she could see him,
but because the air shifted when he moved.
"Don't talk yet," she said quietly.
He froze.
"Okay."
She inhaled slowly.
Cedar.
Clean soap.
Paper.
Coffee from earlier.
That's you, she told herself.
She lifted her chin slightly.
"Say my name," she instructed.
"Hilary," he said.
She closed her eyes.
The way he pronounced it—soft at the end, like he was afraid of hurting it.
Again.
"Hilary."
The same.
Good.
"Step closer," she said.
He did.
The scent deepened.
Warmth.
Familiar pressure against her awareness.
"Step back."
He obeyed.
The air cooled.
"Again," she said.
They repeated it.
Again.
And again.
Until her breathing synced with the changes.
"This is ridiculous," Gerard murmured.
"No," she corrected calmly. "This is how I stay alive."
Silence.
Then—
"I'm sorry," he said.
She shook her head. "Don't apologize. Help."
He swallowed.
"How?"
She opened her eyes.
"I need anchors," she said. "For everyone I trust."
"Like the ribbons," he guessed.
"Yes. But more than that."
She reached into the drawer beside her and pulled out a small notebook.
The pages were already filled with neat handwriting.
Gerard frowned. "When did you—"
"Last night," she said. "When you thought I was asleep."
She turned the notebook toward him.
Names.
Notes.
Details.
Jessica — red ribbon. Strawberry shampoo. Soft footsteps. Laughs before speaking.
Gerard — blue ribbon. Cedar. Coffee. Paper. Left foot heavier.
Doctor Lin — mint gum. Latex gloves. Calm pauses.
Gerard stared.
"You wrote all this?"
"I smelled it," she replied. "And listened."
He looked away.
His jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't have to do this."
She reached across the table and found his wrist.
"I shouldn't have to," she agreed. "But I do."
She squeezed gently.
"So stay consistent."
He met her gaze.
"I will."
"Same perfume," she continued. "Same soap. Same detergent."
He nodded immediately. "Done."
"No experiments," she added. "No surprises."
"I promise."
She leaned back slightly.
"Now," she said, "tell me what I missed."
He hesitated.
"The board is nervous," he said finally. "They're watching you."
She smiled faintly. "They always were."
"And Bianca—"
Her fingers stilled.
"What about her?" Hilary asked.
"She volunteered to assist you today."
Hilary nodded slowly.
"I know."
He stiffened. "You do?"
"Yes," she said. "She smells… intentional."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means she wants to be remembered."
Gerard went still.
"That's not good."
"No," Hilary agreed. "It isn't."
She stood carefully, testing her balance.
"Help me practice," she said.
"Practice what?"
"Losing you," she answered.
His breath caught.
She moved toward the living room.
"Stand somewhere," she instructed. "Anywhere."
He did.
She turned her back.
"Say nothing," she added.
Silence.
She breathed in.
The room spoke to her in layers.
Furniture.
Sunlight.
Fabric.
Then—
There.
A faint displacement.
She turned.
Walked slowly.
Her hand brushed his sleeve.
Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled.
She laughed shakily.
"Found you."
He caught her instantly.
"Hilary—"
"Again," she said quickly. "Different spot."
They repeated it.
Again.
And again.
Until sweat dampened her hairline.
Until fear dulled into focus.
Until she could find him without panic.
Finally, she leaned against him, exhausted.
"I hate this," she admitted.
"I know."
"I hate that I have to learn you like a stranger."
"I know."
"But," she continued softly,
"I love that you let me."
He rested his forehead against hers.
"I would let you relearn me a thousand times," he said.
Her lips trembled.
"Careful," she warned. "That sounds like a promise."
"It is."
A knock interrupted them.
Hilary stiffened instantly.
Her heart accelerated.
"Wait," she whispered.
She inhaled.
Different scent.
Sharp.
Floral.
Cold.
Bianca.
Gerard felt it too—Hilary's body going rigid.
"I'll handle it," he said.
"No," Hilary replied. "I need to."
She straightened.
Her voice, when she spoke, was calm.
"Yes?"
"Chef Vale," Bianca said warmly. "May I come in?"
Hilary smiled.
A perfect smile.
"Yes," she replied.
The door opened.
The scent entered fully.
Stronger than before.
Deliberate.
Bianca stepped inside.
Hilary did not look at her.
She listened.
Measured footsteps.
Controlled breathing.
Predator.
Hilary extended her hand.
Bianca hesitated—just a fraction too long.
Got you.
"Thank you for assisting me today," Hilary said sweetly.
"It's an honor," Bianca replied.
Hilary nodded.
She turned slightly—toward Gerard.
Blue ribbon.
Cedar.
Still there.
For now.
But as Bianca stood smiling between them,
Hilary understood something terrifyingly clear.
Systems could fail.
Senses could be manipulated.
And love—
no matter how strong—
could still be tested.
It happened between breaths.
Between one certainty
and the next.
Hilary was washing her hands at the kitchen sink when the scent reached her.
Cedar.
Her heart reacted before her mind did.
She turned instinctively.
"You're back already?" she asked softly.
No answer.
Her fingers tightened around the porcelain.
The scent was wrong.
Close—
too close—
but thinner.
Like a memory diluted with water.
Her pulse spiked.
"Gerard?" she tried again.
Still no response.
She inhaled deeper.
Cedar.
Yes.
But something underneath—
floral.
Sharp.
Almost sweet.
Her stomach dropped.
That's not him.
She stepped back slowly.
The sound of heels clicked once.
Just once.
"Chef Vale," Bianca's voice said pleasantly,
"I didn't mean to startle you."
Hilary froze.
Her vision blurred—not from sight, but from fear.
"You smell like my husband," Hilary said quietly.
A pause.
Then Bianca laughed softly.
"Oh," she replied. "Do I?"
Hilary's nails dug into her palm.
"Yes," she said. "But you shouldn't."
Bianca moved closer.
The scent thickened.
Intentionally.
"I only passed by his office earlier," Bianca explained casually.
"Perhaps it transferred."
Lie.
Hilary knew it instantly.
Scent didn't behave like that.
Not this clean.
Not this precise.
She straightened her spine.
"You should step back," Hilary said.
"Of course," Bianca replied.
She didn't.
Instead, Bianca leaned in just enough to whisper—
"Does it bother you," she murmured,
"that you can't tell the difference right away?"
Hilary's breath stuttered.
The room tilted.
She reached for the counter.
Bianca stepped back finally.
"Forgive me," Bianca said smoothly. "I didn't realize how… sensitive you were."
Footsteps retreated.
The scent lingered.
That was the worst part.
Hilary stood there long after Bianca left.
Breathing.
Counting.
Re-centering.
Cedar.
Paper.
Coffee.
Gerard.
Real.
She clung to it.
But the damage was already done.
For the first time since the accident,
Hilary understood the true danger.
If someone could copy his scent…
Then love
was no longer a safe compass.
And somewhere down the corridor,
Bianca capped a small vial and smiled.