The argument had started like any other.

“You’re reckless,” Alhaitham snapped, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he blocked your path in the library. “You shouldn’t be taking missions alone in the western ruins. It’s dangerous.”

You scoffed, pushing past him with a stack of scrolls. “Oh, so now you care? You didn’t seem to when you were ignoring my last three reports.”

“I ignored them because they were poorly written.”

“Excuse me?”

His jaw ticked, that infuriating calm pressing against your patience like a vice. “You rely too much on instinct. You don’t think things through.”

“I rely on instinct because my instincts have saved me, unlike your cold logic that nearly got us both crushed last week.”

His scent, usually faint and distant like the smell of sun-warmed paper, suddenly spiked—sharp, musky, laced with something grounding and possessive. You froze.

Oh no.

Your suppressants were wearing off. You’d skipped the last dose, thinking you had time before your next heat cycle, but the tension, the proximity—it stirred something primal. Your own pheromones betrayed you, sweet and warm, spilling into the charged air between you both.

Alhaitham’s pupils dilated.