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Hands in his pockets like he’s been waiting for nothing in particular, and enjoying it.

And yet, somehow, he’s the only person I can actually see.

Theo.

I know his name without hearing it. I know his weight in the room before I even register the color of his eyes.

My breath stalls. Because I realize - too late - what I’ve just done.

I’ve made ahugetactical error.

I’ve gotten too close.

He shifts, and I catch the line of his profile through the lens.

Strong jaw. Amber eyes. Lashes that should be illegal.

And then his scent hits.

Pine. Honey. Warm bread on a cold morning.

It doesn’t crash through me like the others - itsinks,deep and sure, fillingevery hollow like it was made for them.

My knees lock. My mouth goes dry. Something behind my ribs flutters, then takes off in a full sprint.

Alpha.

A fourth.

And I am standingwaytoo close, with not enough excuses and far too many hormones.

The lights smear. Someone bumps my shoulder, and I sway like a paper doll at sea.

My heart thuds once. Then again.

It’s knocking.Loudly.Possibly trying to break out.

The camera dips. I yank it back up like that’ll help.

My fingers twitch. My thoughts are mush.

You’re fine. You’re working. You are not -

“Hey,” a voice says; low, kind, and unfairly warm. “Everything alright, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

Oh,great.He’s one of those.

Normally, that word would send me sprinting in the opposite direction - emotionally, physically, spiritually.

But coming from him, it doesn’t clang - it settles.

Somewhere low and treacherous and already bracing for impact.

I nod. Ilie.“Yeah. Sorry. Just - lightheaded.”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning me in that calm, assessing way that somehow doesn’t feel invasive.