Weathered face.
He looked from Nathan to me to Dr. Reeves and immediately understood he had walked into tension.
“You wanted me?”
Nathan pointed toward the grate.
“What feeds these rooms?”
Thomas frowned.
“The east-zone air handler.”
“Only these rooms?”
“Twins’ rooms, shared bath, upstairs playroom.”
“Any recent work?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Recent meaning?”
“Last two years.”
He started scrolling.
“Filter replacement. Duct cleaning. Humidity adjustments.”
“Anything chemical?”
He stopped.
That pause mattered.
“What?” Nathan asked.
“Nothing dangerous.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Thomas looked toward me.
“Last year we installed a scent-neutralization cartridge in the return system.”
I stared.
“A what?”
“Commercial odor-control system.”
Dr. Reeves exhaled sharply.
“This is absurd.”
I ignored him.
“Why?”
Thomas answered.
“Mrs. Bennett complained the boys’ floor always smelled medicinal.”
That made sense.
Children taking multiple medications.
Cleaning products.
Disinfectants.
Nathan looked toward the hallway.
“So someone added fragrance?”
“Not exactly.”
Thomas shifted.
“Activated compounds
