The subway station. That scent would be utterly drowned out by rust, urine, sweat, and the smells of millions of people.
Kyle clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm—this human gesture of frustration took him decades to learn to do naturally. The pain in his palm was negligible, but the twinge of something in his chest was unfamiliar and all too real.
When he returned to the resuscitation room, a doctor was just coming out.
"Mr. Night? Your grandfather is stable, but we need to transfer him immediately to our specialist facility. His condition is... unique."
Kyle nodded. He understood what 'unique' meant: Sanguis Atrophia, the gradual withering of ancient Nightkind bloodlines, a condition human medicine couldn't comprehend, let alone treat.
"Arrange the transfer immediately." He said. "The clinic in Switzerland is ready."
"And," the doctor hesitated, "the young lady who brought him in, she paid the initial fees with her personal account. Here's the receipt."
Kyle took the receipt. The amount was insignificant to the Night family. But from the nurse's description, this Lily Thorne was herself soaked through, plainly dressed, clearly not a person of means.
She had given what little she had for a stranger.
His grandfather's scent drifted from the resuscitation room, weak but steady. Kyle walked in and took Elias's cold hand.
"Grandfather," he whispered, in a pitch only the Nightkind could hear, "who saved you?"
Elias's eyelids fluttered. He wasn't fully conscious yet, but his lips moved, uttering one word:
"...Sunshine..."
Kyle looked out the window. The first rays of moonlight after the rain pierced through the clouds.
He would find her. The girl with the scent of sunshine and roses.
Wherever she was in this city.