The winter light coming through the tall windows had a thin, silver edge to it. Elias drifted in and out of sleep beneath it, face turned into the pillow, skin hot in a way that had nothing to do with the blankets. The scent in the room had changed overnight; his own pheromones, usually muted and recessive, clung heavier to the air now, threaded through with Victor's dark spice and smoke like ink in water.
His body felt strange, not just the slow burn of heat he'd learned to live with once or twice a year, but something thicker, heavier, as if every cell were waking up to a new set of instructions. His tongue felt clumsy, his mouth dry as chalk, and his limbs both restless and heavy. Even breathing smelled different.
