PART 2
The smell was faint.
If I had not spent years in pediatric home care, I might have ignored it.
Sweet.
Almost like vanilla.
But underneath it was something sharper.
Synthetic.
I stepped closer to the ventilation grate between Jacob’s room and Jonah’s.
Nathan watched me.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
I crouched.
The air coming through the grate was warmer than the hallway.
That alone meant little.
Large homes had complicated heating systems.
But the odor strengthened near the vent.
“Do the boys sleep with the doors closed?”
“Yes.”
“Windows?”
“Usually shut.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
Nathan frowned.
“Why?”
“Security.”
Of course.
I looked toward him.
“Who manages ventilation?”
“Facilities.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Grady.”
“Can you call him?”
Nathan did not ask why.
He took out his phone.
That was the first thing I appreciated about him.
For a man who looked
