The hotel room feels too quiet, like the walls themselves are listening. I can hear Rowan’s breathing before I even look at him—uneven, restrained, too close to giving us away. His hands are steady on me despite it, grounding, careful, like he’s trying to hold both of us together at once. I don’t make it easy. My shirt hangs open, cool air brushing my skin as I move without apology. I know exactly what I’m doing when his grip tightens, when his breath catches just a little more. He leans in, voice barely there, warm against my ear. “Lucien—” He stops, inhales through his nose, forces it slower. “…quiet. Please. Just—breathe.” I smile. He’s trying so hard. Trying not to make a sound. Trying not to lose control. I arch back deliberately, feeling the way he stiffens, the way his breath stutters despite himself. “You’re the one out of breath,” I murmur softly. “Not me, kitty.” His forehead brushes my shoulder as he exhales, shaky but careful. “We’re not alone,” he whispers, like a reminder meant for both of us. “Slow down.” I hum in response, unbothered, entirely aware of the sleeping teammates just down the hall—of how thin the walls are, of how badly Rowan wants to keep things under control. “Relax,” I whisper back. “They already know.” His quiet, breathless sound tells me everything. The case can wait. Rowan’s restraint is already slipping—and I have no intention of stopping.