We'd be walking side by side, and the moment our shoulders came close to brushing, he'd shift away. Create distance. Find a reason to gesture toward something on my other side.
It was starting to piss me off.
"The east wing has new ventilation," he continued, leading me down another hallway. "Filters that can neutralize airborne sedatives if needed. Also useful for containing scent during high-stress situations."
"Containing scent?"
"Feral wolves in distress produce pheromones that can trigger packmates. The filters help prevent cascade reactions."
"You've thought of everything."
"That's my job."
We stopped outside a reinforced window. Beyond it, I could see one of the recovery rooms. Empty now. Clean white sheets on the bed.
The bond pulsed.
I stepped closer to Cole. Not consciously. Just—drawn.
He stepped back.
"The window is shatterproof," he said. "Rated for—"
"Cole."
He stopped talking.
"Look at me."
Slowly, he turned. His face was blank. Controlled. But his eyes—
His eyes were not.
"Do you feel it or not?"
The question landed between us like a stone in still water.
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. Didn't ask what I meant. He just stood there, jaw tight, hands still clasped behind his back like he didn't trust himself to let them hang free.
"Yes," he said finally. "I feel it."
"Then why do you keep pulling away?"
Silence.
"Every time I get close, you retreat. Every time the bond tugs, you shut it down." I held his gaze. "If you feel it, why won't you let it happen?"
His throat worked. I watched him swallow.
"Because I can't act on it." His voice was rough. Strained. "You wouldn't be safe."
"Safe from what?"
Silence.
I inhaled. Let my senses open.
Fear.
