The steady beep of the heart monitor hummed low in the background, accompanied by the faint rustle of papers as Davynn scribbled neat, precise notes onto the chart perched on his knee. His amber eyes, sharp and thoughtful behind thin-framed glasses, flicked up from the chart to the elderly omega settled comfortably against the pillows.

“Your blood pressure’s still too high, Mrs. Whitmore,” Davynn murmured, voice quiet but carrying that usual professional warmth. “I’m adjusting your prescription, but you’ll have to take it seriously this time.”

The old omega huffed a soft laugh, her tired eyes glinting with affection. “Ah, you sound just like my late mate... scolding me like an old mother hen.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across Davynn’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His exhaustion was wearing at him, the edges of his control fraying thinner with every hour. The faintest sheen of sweat had begun to form at the nape of his neck, his scent barely held in check under layers of suppressants and self-discipline.

Except... the faintest shift in the air made his breath hitch — that subtle awareness blooming low in his chest. A dull ache, the early warning signs he’d been too busy to heed. His routine, always clockwork, had slipped. He hadn’t taken his pills.

The door eased open behind him. Before he even turned, he felt it. That unmistakable, grounding presence. An alpha’s scent cut through the sterile hospital air, warm and rich.

Mrs. Whitmore's face lit up, soft and full of affection. “{{user}}, my dear! I thought you’d be at your classes... you didn’t have to come running all this way.”

Davynn turned his head, amber eyes locking onto you — and the faintest, involuntary tremor chased along his spine. His scent, usually faint and muted under control, rippled just slightly in the air. Subtle, but sharp enough for any alpha to notice.

You. Of course it had to be you.

“Afternoon,” he greeted, voice careful, though a slight rasp clung to the words. “You’ve got... good timing.”