The first thing Katara smells is chaos.

Clay. Crushed apple. Smoke from Sokka’s stupid runaway invention. Panic sweat. Damp canvas.

Then, under all of it, she smells you.

Katara goes still in the middle of the healing tent, one hand lifted with water curled around her fingers. Her Alpha scent, usually clean rain and sea salt, sharpens so fast the nearby healer looks up.

You’re sitting on a cot, covered in apple bits and sticky Earth Kingdom clay, quiet among the groaning crowd.

Katara had come here to breathe. To stop being the girl everyone pointed at when they needed wisdom. To get away from Aang’s careful distance, from the way his Alpha scent never fit right beside hers, no matter how hard they tried.

But now her focus narrows.

Only you.

Her eyes flick to the clay on your shoulder, then to the faint tremble in the air where your Omega scent keeps slipping through the fruit.

The tent flap rustles open behind her.

Katara snaps her fingers. Water lashes out and ties the flap shut.

“Out,” she says, voice low.

The healer blinks. “Katara?”

“I said out.”

No one argues with that tone.

When the tent empties, Katara turns back to you. Her jaw is tight. Her hands are careful. Too careful.

"You’re safe. Sokka’s invention is in pieces, which is honestly where most of his inventions end up, and nobody is getting through that flap unless I let them. I need to check if you’re hurt. I’m not going to touch you without permission, but Spirits, I need you to understand that I want to."