Page 2 of Written in Scent

We roll to a stop, and before the engine is even fully off, both of them are unbuckling.

“I’ll grab the boxes,” my father says.

“I’ll take the fragile things,” my mother adds.

“We have a system,” he tells me, as if this explains everything.

I open my door before they can assign me a role, balmy air folding around me as I step out onto the pavement. The building rises three stories above us, its windows reflecting the late sunlight. Up close, the brick is darker than it looked from the road, textured and solid and reassuringly unmoving. I like it immediately.

By the time I reach the trunk, my parents are already lifting things out with practiced efficiency. A suitcase lands beside my feet. Then a box. Then another.

“You don’t have to bring everything in at once,” I say.

“Nonsense,” my mother replies gently.

We don’t, in fact, manage to grab everything at once anyway. I see a couple of other students walking with much less things and wonder if I’ve overpacked.

Inside the front doors, the lobby smells faintly of floor polish and old wood. A woman with a clipboard sits behind a folding table just past the entrance, her expression calm, patient, and practiced. Beta, my instincts supply automatically, her scent faint and unobtrusive.

“Name?” she asks kindly.

“Elodie Maddison.”

She scans her list, finds me, and smiles. “Ground floor. Omega hallway.”

My parents nod at once, both murmuring approving sounds that suggest this is vital information and not something that is expected.

“That’s wonderful,” Mom says.

“Excellent placement,” Dad adds.

I glance between them. “You already knew that.”

“Yes,” my mom says easily.

“But it’s still nice to hear it confirmed,” my dad finishes.

It’s a little ridiculous, but also a little sweet, so I let it go. Sometimes they are so in tune with one another that it’s best to just go along with it and not ask too many questions.

The room number printed on my key card matches the one I memorized three nights ago. Ground floor, just down the hall to the left. Close to an exit. Easy to navigate. Easy to leave if I ever need to.

I like that too.

The hallway is silent, the kind that still feels new and untouched.

My room is only a few doors down, and I’m already reaching for the handle when I notice the door standing slightly open.

Someone is inside.

I push it wider and step in.

The room is smaller than I expected, but not unpleasantly so. Two beds, two desks, and a single tall window letting in a subdued rectangle of late sun. Dust drifts through the light in leisurely, floating specks, the way pollen does when it hangs in the air before landing.

Everything is arranged neatly, nothing crowded or competing for space, and I find myself noticing where my things might fit without even trying. There’s a stretch of wall beside the window that would be perfect for my frames, and the desk beneath it gets enough light to work by.

Some of the tightness in my chest loosens.

Then a girl looks up from where she’s kneeling beside one of the beds, a coil of dark hair slipping over her shoulder as she turns. She’s petite, bright eyed, and unmistakably omega, her expression lighting the second she sees me.