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Theo’s attention cuts to me.

“We need to tell Ezra exactly what she said.”

Ezra sets down his pastry. “What am I missing?”

Theo drags a hand over his mouth, then sits across from us. He gives the facts in a controlled voice. The cloth from the chain carries a GatorX-related signature. Dr. Cole says it’s been altered and doesn’t match previous cases. Ezra’s labs are unusual. His previous bond instability may be interacting with drug exposure. Dr. Cole wants to bring in Dr. Lucy Sawyer to look at his record and maybe do a remote consultation.

I write each point down: altered GatorX-related exposure, Ezra’s labs are unusual, instability may be interacting with drug exposure. I draw a box around interacting. It’s the first word that makes the mess feel less like two mysteries and more like one problem with too many unknowns.

Ezra listens without interrupting. Only once does his hand flicker at the edge, and he puts it flat on the table until it sharpens again.

When Theo finishes, I look at Ezra. “What do you want?”

Theo’s eyes lift to me.

Ezra blinks. “That was fast.”

“You’re the person being discussed. You get the first answer.”

His expression softens, then steadies. “I want her credentials. Case summaries if they exist, or publications. I want to know whether her treatment for stabilization can affect my recognition, memory, decision-making, or attachment. I want to know what she considers success. And I don’t want anyone sending my full history until I approve it.”

I write as fast as I can.

Theo’s scent changes. Leather, bourbon, and a hard edge of fear. “Records.”

Ezra turns toward him. “Yes. Mine.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I gathered.”

“People read files and think they know the whole story,” Theo says.

“Then we make sure they don’t get the file without us in the room.”

Theo pushes up from the table and crosses to the window. He checks the yard, the phone, the doors. Then he checks again.

Around him, the air heavies. The sharp bitterness of fear and desperation make it hard to breathe. His shoulders are held wrong, bunched and curled in as if he’s favoring a wound. The heavy set of his jaw and the concentrated look in his eyes tells me he’s trying to translate his fear into an action plan.

I stand.

Ezra looks at me in question.

I shake my head once, because I have him. Then I cross the kitchen, take Theo’s phone gently from his hand, and set it facedown on the counter. He looks at it as if I put a live snake there.

“Pepper.”

I step between Theo and the counter and push him back against the window bench. He sits more out of instinct than choice. Before he can keep thinking too hard, I climb into his lap. His hands catch my hips, and his grip is a little too tight.

“Looser,” I whisper.

He releases a breath and loosens by degrees. I settle my knees on either side of him. My body knows what to do even though my thoughts are still catching up. My scent warms, rosemary and vanilla winding through his fear. His eyes drop to my throat, then close for half a second. My purr is steady and low until his muscles ease and his scent loses the sharpest edges.

Ezra comes closer and sits on the edge of the table, one foot braced on a chair rung, watching both of us.

I cup Theo’s face. “What do you need right now?”

His answer comes fast. “To know the feeds are clear.”