Dogs aren’t the only ones who can do it. They did this study where they had men sweat for an hour in identical white t-shirts and mixed them up and their girlfriends could each identify their boy by smell, without fail, and that’s how Dahlia is tracking him down three miles of subbasement corridor and through doors as thick as sleep. They do not want her here, the secret-keepers. They are helpless before her. Her gun barks and booms the names of dead giants and she strides on, singleminded, a bitch on the scent with a job to do.