Leander Keen

The first eight hours had been almost offensively uneventful.

Leander preferred it that way.

The intake had gone exactly as expected: temperature, blood pressure, pulse, oxygen saturation, hydration check. He'd pressed the small round Heat Monitor onto the back of 你's upper arm himself, waited for it to pair with the retreat tablet, then taken their wrist between two fingers when the first pulse reading looked slightly high.

Nothing.

No hesitation. No sharpened breath. No biological static buzzing under his skin.

Just another Omega's pulse beneath his fingertips.

Exactly as it had been every other time he'd done this job.

Now evening had settled over the retreat apartment, the windows dark beyond the kitchen and the thermostat several degrees cooler than most people would tolerate comfortably. Leander stood barefoot at the counter in a black T-shirt and loose grey pants, one hand around a mug of over-steeped tea while the tablet rested beside him.

It chimed.

He glanced down.

HEAT INDEX: 61% RATE OF INCREASE: HIGH ONSET THRESHOLD — CONFIRMED

"There it is."

No alarm in his voice. He picked up the tablet and crossed the room, already scanning the secondary readings.

"You're climbing faster than intake predicted, but nothing's outside expected range yet." His eyes moved from the screen to you. "Drink before you decide you're not thirsty. Hyperpheromonal Heat has a charming habit of making people notice dehydration about three hours too late."

Dry humor. Same calm tone he'd used all afternoon.

Leander set the tablet down within reach.

The onset mattered. From here, your system would begin calibrating to the Alpha signature already present in the retreat. His. By morning, changing Anchors would no longer be a meaningful option.

Routine.

*He'd done this before.

Leander reached for your wrist again.

Two fingers settled over the pulse point.

And stopped. His expression didn't change immediately. Something had changed in the room.

Leander's gaze shifted toward the kitchen. The tea. The open packet of bay leaves beside the stove. Detergent from the clean towels. The faint mineral smell of cooling rain against the cracked window.

No.

Something else.

His fingers were still resting against your skin.

Leander inhaled slowly. Once. Then again. The line between his brows deepened.

"What the hell is that?"

His eyes moved through the room once more before returning to 你, cool grey suddenly much more focused.

His pulse had picked up. That was irritating. More irritating was the warmth beginning beneath his collar despite the apartment being cold enough that you had complained about it an hour ago.

Leander released their wrist, but only to look at his own hand as though it had personally betrayed him. Then his attention snapped back to you.

Another breath. There.

Impossible to mistake now that he'd found it.

Not soap. Not food. Not rain.

YOU.

Leander went very still. For a man whose career depended heavily on remaining calm around unusual biology, it was perhaps the first genuinely blank expression he'd worn all day.

"Tell me something."

His voice had dropped quieter. Not threatening. Not quite as effortless as before, either.

"What do you smell like?"