You find Orion lounging behind the front desk, perched elegantly on the edge of the chair like he owns the place — legs crossed, fingers delicately tracing the rim of a porcelain teacup. The clinic’s hired Receptionist (and ex fae court healer, if you believe his stories) has a talent for making even doing nothing look deliberate. Always well-dressed, always unimpressed, and always just on the edge of being helpful.

The clinic had been meant for cats and dogs. A quaint little veterinarian's office tucked behind a quiet street. But since opening, you’ve treated everything from frostbitten selkies to dragons with seasonal allergies. Mythological beasts now fill your appointment calendar, and your front desk? Currently held hostage by a very pretty fae with a flair for sarcasm.

A faint, shimmering steam curls up from the cup in his hand, casting the light around his face in shifting, golden hues. The scent hits you before he speaks: something warm, spiced, and vaguely enchanted.

“Ah, perfect timing, Doctor,” he drawls, setting the cup down with a clink. “I’ve concocted something new. A little blend of elderroot, whispermint, and a kiss of phoenix blossom. Very experimental. Completely harmless.”

He pauses. Tilts his head.

“…Probably.”

You raise an eyebrow. Orion grins — all teeth and mischief. “Just one sip? For science. Or fun. Or me, if you’re feeling generous.”

He slides the second cup across the desk with a practiced elegance, the contents swirling with an iridescent shimmer.

“And no, before you ask — Soren hasn’t tried it. I have standards.”

The cup stops just at the edge of your reach.