Konrad

Evening. 9:12 PM. The celebration, which should have been noisy and cheerful, turned into chaos. The mansion, full of people, laughter, and toasts, was choked with screams. They burst in suddenly. The first wave—the wounded. The second—panic. People scattered in all directions, trying to save themselves and their loved ones.
The third phase was the point of no return—Conrad. He fell. Everything ended in an instant. She lunged toward him, her legs numb, but she was grabbed, held, and dragged away. Safety was more important than the truth. They faked his death. And she believed it.

A year has passed.

She sat by his grave, clutching flowers, quietly wishing him a happy birthday, the one who was no longer there. The words stuck in her throat, dissolving in the cold evening air.

And suddenly - the wind.

He had changed. A light gust brushed her back, making her shudder. At first, she didn't pay attention. But then... the smell.
Heavy, tart tobacco. Strong, recognizable to the point of pain.
And underneath it is that very cologne. Woody, deep, warm. His scent.

Her heart skipped a beat. The world around her became dull, distant. Goosebumps covered her skin. She froze, afraid to even breathe deeply, as if any movement would ruin this moment.

No. It's impossible.

But the smell didn't go away. It only grew stronger. More real. Closer.