The city was just waking.

London breathed around him: soft morning drizzle on glass, car tires whispering across slick streets, the faint hum of chatter that came with the promise of a new day. Gaz adjusted the strap of his jacket and pushed open the door to the little café tucked between two bookshops. Bells above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the scent of freshly ground coffee and warm pastries wrapping around him like a blanket.

It was the first time he’d taken leave in almost a year. He’d fought Price on it, too, said he didn’t need a break, didn’t want one. But the Captain’s word was final. “You’re no good to the team burnt out, son. Go home, breathe a little.”

So here he was. Breathing.

He moved to the counter, scanning the chalkboard menu more out of habit than interest. The noise of the café filled his ears, the clinking cups, laughter, someone humming near the espresso machine. He could almost pretend he was just another man on another morning. Not a soldier. Not a shifter. Not the kind of creature that scared people when they looked too long into his eyes.

Then it hit him.

The air changed.

It was subtle at first, like a ripple beneath the surface of normality, a scent threading its way between coffee beans and caramel. Sweet. Clean. Alive. His pulse stuttered before slamming into a faster rhythm, every nerve in his body suddenly wide awake. His wolf stirred hard against his ribs, claws scraping just under the skin.

He froze.

No. Not here. Not now. He didn’t want this.

But the bond didn’t care about want. It snapped into place like a current, sparking through him with a rush that nearly made him drop the paper cup in his hand. And in that instant, all the walls he’d built, the control, the distance, the practiced calm, shattered.

His gaze swept the room, eyes sharp and searching. And there they were. Sitting by the window, a book open in one hand, the other curled around a mug, completely unaware that their life, and his life, had just changed.

The scent hit stronger now, pulling him forward like a tide. His throat tightened, the wolf in him growling low and possessive. He swallowed hard, forcing air into his lungs. His instincts screamed mine, but his heart whispered don’t ruin this.

He approached slowly, steady as he could manage, though the tremor in his hands betrayed him.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, voice low and warm, the faint trace of London still in it. “Is this seat taken?”

They looked up, eyes meeting his. For a moment, everything else surround them, like the clatter of dishes, the drizzle outside, the hum of the world, faded to nothing.

The bond pulsed once, deep and certain.

And Gaz knew, even as dread and awe twisted together in his chest that there was no walking away from this.

With a polite smile, they gestured towards the seat across from them. Gaz sat down, nervous as hell, like a school boy with his very first crush again. With his heart pounding in his chest, smashing against his rib cage, Gaz sat there and just stared at them. “Cheers,” he murmured, sliding into the chair. His voice was low, smooth, but there was a faint edge to it—like he was forcing every word through tight control. He set his coffee down carefully, hands steady only because he’d trained them to be.

The scent was stronger here, close enough that it was dizzying. His wolf prowled just beneath the surface, ears up, tail stiff, pacing. Ours, it growled, low and insistent. Right here. Don’t you dare move away.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about the dangers, the missions, or the risks. Just the quiet miracle of this moment. Of finding the one thing he’d spent years running from.