Waiting outside the police station for Max to emerge, I couldn't help but notice that acrid scent of sulfuric acid on him as he approached, triggering my gag reflex once again. He sniffed himself with a frown of displeasure.

Ronald leaned in for a sniff, too. "Still smells after three washes? I can't catch a whiff. Ms. Floyd, what kind of super nose do you have?"

For some reason, my senses were on high alert today. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, the nauseating smell etched into my very being, which was unforgettable and revolting.

"I'll wash up again," Max decided, leaving, but I started vomiting again by the side.

"It's okay. I've probably just got a bit of a stomach bug," I said.

Feeling the physical toll and the mental strain from witnessing Gabrielle's demise, Claude's indifference, and the sight of a pregnant woman's body drenched in sulfuric acid, I knew I was pushed to my breaking point. Ronald patted my back gently. "Ms. Floyd, maybe you should see a therapist. In my years of police work, it seems the trauma from when Daniel hurt you has left a deep impact."

I stopped retching to look at him. Even Ronald thought I needed professional help.

and took hold of my wrist. "She's exhausted today. A bit of rest, and she'll

too dizzy to protest. Not long after the

sitting in my living room, his long legs crossed as he focused intently on

was so engrossed that he didn't notice me until I

Richard called and wants to take you

me frown slightly. Was

door, he suddenly turned back.

Max stayed to

Otherwise, who knows might indulge." I teased him, stepping

he was always so stern and detached. But in the privacy of my apartment, there seemed to be a different dynamic between us,

close pressing me against the wall with a warning look in his

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