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'Threat.'
The recognition was immediate and absolute. Theron's scent still clung to the air in Kaelen's memory, polished silk, expensive oils, and beneath it something sour and hungry. The beast catalogued it the way a wolf catalogues a rival: posture, strength, intent. Not the strongest predator in the room. Not even close. But clever. Patient. The kind that waited for larger hunters to lower their heads before it struck.
Kaelen's fingers flexed at his sides. The urge to turn back, to find Theron in the reception hall and sink teeth into the soft place beneath that false smile, rose sharp and bright. He forced it down. The beast did not argue. It simply waited, coiled and watchful, certain that the time would come.
'Protect.'
