The faded map crinkled in Elara's trembling hands. It depicted a network of interconnected properties, each marked with a stylized sprig of rosemary. Dorian stood beside her, his face etched with a grim understanding as she traced the lines between the Blackwood Estate and the other locations, each one a potential prison, a potential graveyard.

"What does it mean?" Elara whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves outside the study window. She had been poring over the map and the documents from the hidden cellar for hours, a growing sense of unease tightening its grip on her. The disappearances, the coded messages, the constant, pervasive scent of rosemary – it all pointed to something far more sinister than she had initially imagined.

Dorian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "The rosemary," he began, his voice low and heavy. "It's not just a decorative plant. It's the key."

Elara looked up, her brow furrowed. "The key to what? Flavoring their… their merchandise?" She shuddered, unable to fully articulate the horrifying reality of what she now knew Julian and Vivienne had planned for her.