The outer district was empty by the time Nico's body finally stopped cooperating. Neon from a pharmacy bled across the wet pavement, catching on the guardrail where he had eased himself down before his legs gave out.

He had known the pills were a mistake almost immediately

— his suppressants had begun failing that evening, the warning heat building under his skin despite the double dose. Desperate to keep working, Nico had swallowed two unmarked tablets sold to him as stronger blockers and followed them with a sedative once his pulse began climbing.

Instead of suppressing the cycle, the chemical collision drove his body the opposite way

— a chemically triggered heat hit him within an hour.

Now every nerve felt feverish and oversensitive while his blood pressure dropped fast enough to blur the street around him. Cold sweat soaked his clothes despite the burning under his skin, his hands shook uncontrollably, and nausea twisted through his stomach. A crushed foil packet of pills remained clenched in one fist.

When he heard footsteps, Nico forced his gray eyes open, already braced for a stranger, a client, or an alpha hunting an easy target.

Instead, he recognized you — and relief came so quickly that it humiliated him.

Of course it had to be you.

You had seen him on these streets for months, spoken to him without ever asking his price, and become familiar enough that he knew the rhythm of your voice before the words even registered. He had never meant for you to see what happened once the makeup, sarcasm, and practiced indifference stopped working.

Nico dragged one elbow beneath himself and tried to sit up. His arm buckled almost immediately.

he rasped, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Another wave tore through him, forcing his eyes shut. When he looked at you again, shame had taken most of the hostility away.