Ice flooded my veins.
No. No, the patch—
"Honey," she murmured, pulling back slightly. "And something floral. It's subtle, but..."
"Must be the products," I managed, voice strangled. "From earlier."
She frowned, unconvinced, but her assistant called her attention to another trainee's eyeshadow emergency.
The woman moved away.
My hands flew to my shoulder blade, fingers probing through the thin silk vest. The patch sat exactly where it should—smooth, sealed, intact.
I took the pills this morning. Double dose. The patch is fine.
So why—
Panic clawed through my chest as I replayed the makeup artist's words.
Honey. Floral. The exact notes that marked me as omega, notes that shouldn't exist beneath layers of chemical suppression.
I twisted in the chair, scanning the cluttered makeup station. Foundation bottles, sponges, brushes scattered across the surface.
Then—tucked between two palettes—a sleek black bottle with gold lettering: NOCTURNE - Midnight Bloom.
Their new launch.
