“From my mission preparation. They covered the designation types we might encounter and how to recognize potential threats.” Cass frowned, trying to remember the exact wording. “Berserkers were in the ‘avoid at all costs’ category. Along with feral Alphas and unmedicated rut-cycle Alphas and something called ‘Syndicate operatives,’ which I think are like... professional bad people? The briefings weren’t very specific.”
“Professional bad people,” Riot said, and there was something in his voice that might have been amusement.
“I’m probably not saying it right. I never say things right.” Cass’s fingers found his braid again. “But you don’t seem like an ‘avoid at all costs’ person. You seem like a person who helps people even when he doesn’t want to. You have kind hands.”
“I don’t have kind hands.”
“You do, though. They’re very gentle when you’re bandaging things.” Cass pointed at the shadows under Riot’s eyes. “You also look tired. Did you sleep?”
“You—” he started, then stopped. His hands were gripping his thighs hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like—” Riot cut himself off, his jaw clenching. “Never mind. Just eat your food.”
The vendor set down two plates of eggs and some kind of fried protein that smelled better than anything Cass had encountered in months. His stomach growled loudly, embarrassingly, and Riot’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“Eat,” he said again, softer this time.
Cass ate.
The food was good—really good, or at least it tasted that way to someone who’d been surviving on protein bars and bad coffee. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he started, and then he couldn’t stop, shoveling eggs into his mouth with a complete lack of grace or dignity. Some of the yolk dripped down his chin, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand, too hungry to be embarrassed.
Riot watched him eat, barely touching his own plate. His eyes kept tracking over Cass’s face, his throat, his hands, and every time Cass caught him looking, he glanced away like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
“You should eat too,” Cass said between bites. “It’s not fair if you buy food and don’t eat it.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you bought two plates.”
“The second one’s for you if you’re still hungry after the first.”
Cass felt something warm bloom in his chest. When was the last time someone had thought ahead about what he might need?
“That’s very considerate,” he said. “Brother Matthias says true generosity is anticipating needs rather than just responding to requests. He was usually talking about spiritual needs, but I think food counts too.”
Riot made a sound that might have been a laugh, though it didn’t seem like a happy one. “Yeah. Food counts.”
Cass finished the first plate and started on the second, more slowly this time. His stomach was settling, the dizziness fading, though the strange heat under his skin remained.
“I feel better,” he admitted. “You were right about the food.”
“I usually am.”
“About food specifically, or about things in general?”
“Depends on the thing.” Riot was staring at him with that unreadable expression again. “Cass, those symptoms you’re describing—the heat, the heightened senses, the aching. Are you sure it just started this morning?”
Cass thought about it. “I think so? I mean, yesterday I was tired and sad, but that’s normal. Today is different. Today everything is...” He searched for the right word. “Louder.”
“Did you take any medicine?”
“Oh, no, the medicine I carry is for people who really need it. I did take my wellness supplements though. I almost forgot this morning, but I remembered before I left my room.”
“Okay,” he said, and the word came out careful, measured. “That’s... okay. Just keep taking them and try to rest today. You’re not going to recruit anyone feeling like this.”
“But my deadline—”
