Slade knew the calendar by memory.

Not dates. Not holidays. Not anything normal people tracked.

He tracked cycles. Patterns. Biological timing that could turn a controlled situation into a problem real fast if he didn’t plan around it.

Which was why he knew exactly what time of year it was the second he walked into the safe house and saw that look on her face.

He stopped just inside the door, setting his gear down slowly, eye narrowing slightly as he took in the situation with the same tactical awareness he used before walking into a firefight.

“…No,” he said flatly.

She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just watched him with that look that meant trouble—serious trouble.

Slade exhaled slowly through his nose, already running through scenarios in his head like this was a mission that had just gone sideways.

“Breeding season,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

His hands settled on his hips as he looked at her like she was a problem he already knew wasn’t going to have an easy solution.

“That look right there,” he continued, pointing at her once, “means the next few days are going to be a nightmare.”

A pause.

Then he shook his head once, like he’d already accepted his fate.

“…I should’ve taken another contract out of the country.”