He hadn’t meant to follow. Truly.

There was a disturbance in the ley lines—an old magic, flaring raw and wild like a wound left open too long. Something primal, wrong. He had tracked it out of instinct more than reason, his staff in hand, light guiding his steps even as the forest thickened with shadow.

And then he found the cabin.

It shouldn’t have drawn him in. He had no right to intrude— not here, not on him. But something in the air pulled at him. A scent, maybe. Or a sound. He hadn’t been sure. Only that something was very, very wrong.

The moment he stepped inside, warmth rushed at him like a wave. Stifling. Heavy. It wasn’t fire, but it burned all the same. And then he saw him.

Shadow Milk.

Collapsed just beyond the door of the bedroom, flushed with agony, breathing in short, ragged gasps. His bodysuit hung in tatters, discarded like a second skin.

Pure Vanilla froze.

He should leave. Turn back. Pretend he never saw.

But he didn’t move.

Not when the other’s scent reached him— intoxicating, laced with power and fear and something almost pleading beneath it. His inner alpha was going fucking wild.