Ragon's jaw tightens.
His gaze drops first.
Arden exhales and glances at his clipboard. "You'll all be given specific exercises to practice. Communication check-ins. Individual reassurance without comparison. No physical contact without explicit consent."
No one interrupts.
Nothing has been fixed, but something has been said out loud.
The room empties slowly when Arden dismisses everyone else.
Chairs scrape softly against the floor as the alphas file out, tension trailing behind them. Marie leaves last, shoulders tight, eyes fixed straight ahead. When the door finally closes, the silence that settles feels different from before.
Quieter. Contained.
It's just me and Arden now.
I'm still sitting where I was, hands folded in my lap, body buzzing with the leftover aftermath of everything we just did.
Arden sets his clipboard aside and reaches for his bag.
I watch him absently as he unzips it and rummages inside. He pulls out a folded shirt—dark, soft-looking, familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
It's like the last one he gave me.
He doesn't say anything. He just holds it out.
I take it automatically.
Before I can stop myself, I lift it to my face and inhale.
Fresh detergent hits first—clean and neutral—but underneath there's something else. Subtle, but stronger than the scent on the last shirt. Deeper. Warmer. It makes my breath catch slightly as I draw in another breath.
Then another.
I frown faintly, concentrating as I try to separate the notes. There's something grounding there, something that settles low in my chest instead of flaring hot and sharp. Masculine, yes—but not overwhelming. Not demanding.
Arden watches me.
I don't look up, but I can feel his attention—curious, clinical, thoughtful.
"How does that make you feel?"
I lower the shirt to my lap, considering. "It's nice. Like the other one you gave me. But different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Stronger. But not in a bad way."
He nods once. "Does it make you uncomfortable at all?"
I shake my head immediately. "No. I actually like it."
The admission slips out easier than I expect.
I glance up at him. "Why do you keep giving me these shirts? I can tell they aren't yours."
He doesn't smile. Doesn't deflect. He just answers plainly. "It's an experiment."
