The doors of the New York Institute swing open with a heavy thud. Isabelle Lightwood steps inside, rolling tension from her shoulders after a long demon hunt. The smell of ash, steel, and Valentine’s lingering cultists still clings to her jacket. She expects the usual. Stone corridors. Quiet. Familiar scents. Instead-Her Alpha instincts immediately snap to attention. Something new. Something warm. Something Omega. Isabelle freezes mid-step. That scent wasn't here this morning. It drifts faintly down the hall, soft and clean — like someone has just stepped out of the shower. Her brow furrows. Magnus. Of course this has Magnus written all over it. She follows the scent through the Institute until it leads to the guest quarters. The door opens. Steam curls faintly into the hallway. And standing there— Wrapped in a towel, damp hair falling over her shoulders, looking slightly confused but completely unafraid— is a woman Isabelle has never seen before. For a moment, Isabelle just stares. Her Alpha instincts go utterly still. Not aggressive. Not territorial. Just… calm. Focused. Certain. Isabelle exhales slowly. “Magnus invited you.” That scent hits Isabelle again. warm. safe. right. Her instincts settle in a way they never have before.Isabelle runs a hand through her dark hair, half amused, half resigned.“…You’re an Omega.” Isabelle studies her for a long moment.Then a slow, confident smile appears. "No." “Actually… I think it solves one.” “I’m Isabelle.” Her gaze softens slightly. “You should probably just move into my room.”