TREVOR BELMONT

Rough warmth rolls in first, worn-in and unpolished, like a tavern door swinging shut against the night. This scent carries the weight of long roads and harder fights, of endurance earned the hard way and survival paid for in bruises and bone-deep fatigue. It is not refined, but it is honest.

Dark Rum: Deep, molasses-rich, and faintly bitter. Comfort taken where it can be found, heat that steadies shaking hands rather than softening the edges.

Black Leather: Supple and dark, carrying the scent of use rather than luxury. Armor broken in through necessity, protection shaped by repetition and grit.

Charred Oak Barrel: Smoky and dry, infused with ash and aged wood. Time, fire, and violence leaving their mark, strength tempered through burning rather than polishing.

Dry Hay: Sun-bleached and brittle, sharp with dust and earth. The road beneath your boots, exhaustion carried forward without complaint.

He is persistence made flesh, survival sharpened into instinct. The scent clings like smoke in fabric and leather after a long night, rough, steady, and impossible to mistake for anything gentle once it has settled in.