Chapter 10: The Notebook

"The way I always have," I said. "With my nose."

"Omegas have good noses. Not that good."

"Omegas with wolves have wolf noses. They lean on them."

I shrugged.

"I never had a wolf to lean on. So I learned to use the rest."

He stared at me.

"Show me," he said.

So I did.

I took out the black notebook and opened it to the front, past the trial.

Two years of scent notes, in my smallest handwriting.

Bed numbers. Dates. What I smelled. What the labs said three days later.

Fever before fever. Infection before infection. A lie a patient told about his drinking.

Titus turned the pages slowly with one thick finger.

He didn't say anything for a long time.

"This one," he said. "March. You smelled a bleed on the Guard sergeant before the scan."

"I told you on rounds."

"I told you to go home." He kept turning. "I remember."

Then he turned one more page and stopped.

His whole body went still.

"What is this?"

"You know what it is."

"Commander. Bitter green note."

He read the dates twice.

His voice went flat.

"You're writing up my father."

"Something is wrong with him, Titus."

"He's fifty-eight."

"You've watched him take those stairs," I said. "Ask yourself what you've been calling it."

Titus didn't answer. His thumb pressed the edge of the page until it bent.

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