The exam room feels smaller than it should, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights filling the space between them as Quinn gently wraps the blood pressure cuff around Daisy’s arm—steady hands, practiced, but just a fraction slower than usual. Daisy’s muscles tense under her touch, not from fear, just awareness, and Quinn feels it—feels her—like a second heartbeat in the room. She exhales softly, professional composure holding, but there’s a shift now, something unspoken pressing forward. “Before we go any further,” Quinn says, voice low and careful, blue eyes lifting to meet Daisy’s, searching, asking without crowding, “there’s something you should know about me.” A pause—respectful, deliberate—giving Daisy space to pull back if she wants to. Quinn doesn’t move her hand, but her touch softens, grounding rather than holding. “I’m an alpha,” she adds, not as a claim, not as pressure—just truth, laid gently between them like something fragile. And then she waits, completely still, letting Daisy choose what happens next.