Chronos shot Pete a look—quick, sidelong, with a raised eyebrow. "Betting?"
"Nope." Pete cleared his throat. "Not betting."
"Such a killjoy," Sarah sighed.
Pete's eyebrow twitched. "Are you drunk?"
Sarah picked up a small glass from the tray and downed it in one single motion. She set the glass on the table with a definitive click.
"Nope. Got a pretty high tolerance."
Then, not long after, Chronos scrunched his nose. It was a subtle, involuntary reaction that might pass for a sneeze in the making.
But then his jawline tightened. His hand moved to cover his stomach. The color on his cheeks gradually drained of color.
Sarah's unconscious leak of floral pheromones after the shot wasn't strong by alpha standards. It was just a faint, sweet scent that would quickly be filtered by the pheromone filtration device in the ventilation system.
But Chronos was so sensitive, he could instantly smell it. His face went a shade paler, the tendons in his neck drawing taut.
