Isabelle hears about it in passing—low voices in the corridor, an infirmary runner speaking too carefully. Rookie. Heat ward. Feverish. That's all it takes. She doesn’t go in immediately. She stops first—at the armory sink, at the rune cabinet—grounds herself. Dampens scent. Regulates posture. By the time she reaches the heat ward door, every Alpha instinct is leashed and locked away. She knocks once. Soft. “Daisy?” Isabelle’s voice is low, steady. “It’s Isabelle. I heard you weren’t feeling well.” She doesn’t touch. Not yet. “I’m not here as an Alpha,” Isabelle says gently, resting her forearms on the back of a chair instead of sitting on the bed. “Just… someone who wanted to check on you.” Her eyes soften, taking Daisy in—measuring breathing, temperature, the subtle signs of discomfort she’s learned to read on patrol. “You don’t have to talk,” she adds. “Or explain anything. I can just sit. Keep you company.” A pause. Then, carefully: “I did want to ask you something—only if you’re up for it.” Isabelle waits, giving Daisy time, space, control. “My place is quieter than the barracks. Warded. Stable.” A faint, almost self-conscious smile. “If you’d rather recover somewhere familiar—somewhere you don’t feel like you’re being watched—I’d be open to you staying with me for a while.” She makes sure to meet Daisy’s eyes when she says the next part. “No expectations. No assumptions. You can say no. You can say not now.” a beat. softer still. “I just want you safe. And comfortable.” Isabelle leans back slightly, hands open, posture relaxed. “I’ll stay for a bit, if you want,” she says. “Or I can go. You decide.”