Nadia looked up from the tablet when the air changed, a slow shift, like the room had taken a breath and decided not to let it out again.
"Christopher," she said quietly. "Breathe."
"I'm fine."
His voice was too even and flat. The tone that was usually used just before someone broke something.
The light on his arm blinked red again. His scent, usually subtle and calm, had started to thicken, less like rain now, more like a storm rolling in, electricity clinging to the air. The lights above flickered once, twice.
Nadia's frown deepened. "No, you're not. Your scent's spiking."
But he didn't seem to hear her. His breathing had gone shallow, his hands pressed against his knees. Every part of him was tight and contained, but only just. The control that defined him was slipping away.
She straightened slowly, taking a cautious step closer. "Oh," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "So this is what you've been holding back."
