Florian's breath came in short, quiet pants as he finally reached the storage unit. His chest tightened—not from exhaustion, but from the sick, gnawing dread that coiled deep in his gut like a living thing.
'Here it is…'
The stench was already leaking out, faint but unmistakable. A mix of decay and something worse, something thick and cloying that clung to the back of his throat. But this time, he was prepared.
He pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket, the one he had soaked earlier with herbs Heinz had sworn would mask the worst of the rot. The scent of crushed mint and bitter wormwood filled his nose as he tied it securely around his mouth. The cloth didn't block the smell entirely, but it dulled it enough to keep his stomach from rebelling.
'Better than nothing.'
