Jean hadn't fallen asleep yet.
Her eyes were glued to the pages of her book, her mind tangled in the fantasy world she had been so absorbed in.
But then a sharp, acrid scent wafted through the air. It was faint at first, just a whisper that tickled her nose.
If her sense of smell wasn't as sharp as it was—or if she hadn't been jolted by the sheer strangeness of it—she might have ignored it entirely.
But she didn't.
Jean's breath hitched, and her gaze tore away from the words on the page. Her heart picked up speed as she sniffed the air, the pungent odor becoming stronger, more invasive. Fuel.
She stood quickly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she abandoned it.
The coldness of the night air from her slightly ajar window brushed her skin as she approached it cautiously.
Looking outside, she caught sight of a shadow darting away, disappearing into the darkness like a phantom.