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He nodded, selecting a heavy, amber-colored bottle. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he misted a paper strip. "This is L’Eclat . It has notes of frozen juniper and smoked cedar."

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Elena took a breath. Suddenly, she wasn’t in a crowded New York neighborhood. She was standing on a porch at dawn, the air sharp enough to sting, watching the mist rise off a black lake. The scent was lonely but powerful—the smell of a clean slate. He nodded, selecting a heavy, amber-colored bottle