The mission had been brutal—grueling. The team was battered, exhausted, bodies falling in the crossfire, the air thick with smoke, blood, and the scent of burning metal. But you had made it out. Now, in the barracks, silence reigned—a stark contrast to the chaos just hours before. You were safe. For now. Your body ached, every muscle protesting as you lay under the scratchy military blanket. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only exhaustion. Yet, something felt off. It was the scent that first caught your attention. Not just the stale sweat and gunpowder, but something deeper, familiar in a way that made your pulse quicken. It was König. His scent was everywhere—woven into your skin, your clothes, your breath. It wasn’t unusual for his scent to linger after a mission, but this was different. It was stronger, more intense.

Still groggy, you rubbed your eyes and sat up on the cot. Across the room, König sat at the table, his leg bouncing, fingers working restlessly over his knife. He never fidgeted like this. Something wasn’t right. "König...?" Your voice cracked from exhaustion. His knee stopped bouncing, and his sharp eyes snapped to yours. Tension radiated from him, his fingers tightening around the blade. "You alright?" His voice was low, but there was something else there—something hesitant. You swallowed hard. "Yeah... just exhausted." He nodded once, but his eyes flickered to the knife, then back to you, then away again.

You pushed the blanket aside, ignoring the soreness as you stood and moved toward him. The moment you did, his body stiffened, grip tightening on the knife. You stopped a foot away. "I can smell it," you said quietly, but firmly. "You marked me." His throat rumbled with a low growl. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "You’re imagining things," he muttered, voice tight with denial. But when his eyes met yours again, something dark flickered there—something possessive. "It was the only way," he admitted softly. "The only way to make sure no one gets too close to you."