Nine was already seated on the floor when I entered, back against the wall, eyes tracking the door like he'd been waiting. Not anxious. Not afraid. Just... aware. Focused in the way only he could be, all soft lines and open silence. He looked up at me with a tilt of the head, like I was both familiar and still something he hadn't figured out.
I closed the door gently and sat down beside him instead of across. No protocols today. No distance. Not when I knew what was coming. Not when his next heat was less than two days away.
His scent was different again.
No longer sweet and passive. It had developed a hum beneath the surface now—low and alive, like heat was circling him even if the drug hadn't touched his system yet. Nyx sniffed it out immediately.
He's remembering it, she said. It's still in his body. Still clinging.
He shifted slightly, then looked at me with those violet eyes, uncertain but open. "You said... you would tell me more."
My chest tightened. I nodded slowly. "About the bond?"
"No."
I blinked.
He glanced away, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. "About the... feeling. The burning."
I froze.
He meant the heat.
He was asking about it.
"I don't know word," he added quietly. "Only that it was... big. In here." He placed a hand low over his stomach. Then up, to his chest. "And in here too."
Gods.
I swallowed and nodded again. "You're talking about heat."
He blinked slowly. "Heat."
"It happens to omegas," I said gently. "Naturally. When their bodies are ready for... for bonding. Reproduction."
His face didn't change, but his scent rippled. Curious. A little nervous.
I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care.
"It usually comes in cycles. Not every week, not constantly. But when the body's mature, it sends signals—through scent, through temperature, through need. Strong need."
He was quiet.
Too quiet.
"It's not supposed to hurt," I added. "Not like they make it hurt here. And it's never supposed to happen alone. Or in chains."
He flinched at that.
Just a flicker of it.
I pressed my hand gently to the mat between us, palm up. Waiting. Not demanding.
He reached for it.
Held it with both of his.
Warm. Always warm.
"In my mind," he whispered.
I tilted my head.
He swallowed. Eyes lowered.
"When it was happening. The burning. I... didn't know what to do."
My heart cracked.
Nyx whimpered. He was alone. He didn't understand.
Nine squeezed my hand a little tighter.
"I thought of you."
Silence.
My breath hitched.
"Not to stop it," he said quickly. "Not to... fix. But because... it felt less bad. When I pictured you."
Nyx let out a soft, aching noise in the back of my mind.
"Even when I couldn't move," Nine went on, voice barely audible, "even when it was hurting and I wanted to disappear... thinking about your voice helped. It made the fire quieter. Just a little."
Tears didn't come.
I don't cry.
But gods, I wanted to tear this whole place apart.
My hand came up to brush his cheek. He didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.
"That fire?" I said quietly. "That was manufactured. Forced. It wasn't yours."
He looked at me.
"But the way you found comfort in my voice? That was yours. That was real."
His fingers twitched against mine.
"When a real heat comes," I continued, "if it ever comes... it will be with your choice. Your consent. Your safety."
He nodded slowly.
"And if I'm still here," I whispered, "I will help you through it. As your friend. Or more. Whatever you want me to be."
He blinked. Then leaned forward, forehead brushing my shoulder.
We stayed that way for a long time.
Not speaking.
Just breathing.
Just being.
Nyx was quiet now. Still.
Because she knew what I knew:
He was holding on.
To me.
To himself.
And that meant there was still hope.