You don't. You smell familiar. You smell like sweaty afternoons spent after an assignment, waiting for the Hellicarier to pick them up.

She forces an indifferent shrug. "Yes, yes. I forgot. I'm a terrorist. Noted unreliable source of information. I'm also supposed to be dead." She smiles slightly, and lets herself stroke the back of her fingers over one stubbly cheek. "Good information is so hard to find."