The cabin had settled into that strange in-between quiet that came after lights-out but before anyone actually slept. The air was thick with the lingering scent of damp wood, old pine, and too many people packed into one space, the faint creak of bunks shifting under weight and the soft rustle of blankets filling the gaps where conversation had died off. Outside, the forest pressed close against the walls, branches brushing faintly against the siding when the wind picked up, like something testing the edges of the place without ever quite stepping inside.

Maddox was supposed to be asleep.

He’d been lying on his back for the past twenty minutes, one arm thrown behind his head, staring up at the underside of the bunk above him like it had personally offended him. It wasn’t the bed. It wasn’t the noise. It wasn’t even the heat, though the cabin always ran warmer than it should with this many bodies crammed together.

It was the scent.

It had been bothering him all night.

Not bothering—no, that wasn’t right. It was worse than that. It had his attention in a way nothing else did, something sharp and unfamiliar cutting through everything else until it was the only thing he could focus on. Not human. Not wolf. Not anything he could immediately place, and that alone was enough to keep him awake, restless, turning the thought over and over like it might make more sense the longer he sat with it.

It didn’t.

From the bunk above him, Rowan shifted, letting out a long sigh. “If you don’t stop moving, I’m kicking you out,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Maddox huffed quietly, dragging a hand over his face before turning his head toward the side of the cabin where she was.

“I’m not moving,” he whispered back, which was a blatant lie.

“You are literally vibrating,” Rowan replied without opening his eyes. “It’s weird.”

Maddox ignored him.

His gaze had already settled, locked in again without him meaning to. Even in the low light, with only the faint spill of moonlight coming through the window, he could make out the shape of her across the room. Still. Quiet. Completely unbothered.

And that scent.

Stronger now that the rest of the cabin had gone still, the usual distractions faded out enough for it to sharpen. It pulled at something instinctive, something low and persistent that didn’t care about boundaries or common sense. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t threatening.

It was just... interesting.

Which, apparently, was enough to ruin his ability to leave it alone.

Maddox lasted another thirty seconds before he gave up entirely.

He rolled onto his side, swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, and dropped down onto the floor with a soft thud that made the frame creak. Rowan groaned quietly above him but didn’t move otherwise.

“Don’t,” Rowan warned, voice muffled into his pillow.

Maddox didn’t respond.

He moved slowly, though not because he was trying to be sneaky. It was more like his body had already decided what it was doing and he was just following along. Each step was quiet, weight shifting naturally, the floor barely reacting under him despite his size. He crossed the cabin without thinking too hard about it, drawn in the same way he had been all evening.

He stopped just in front of her.

For a second, he just stood there.

Head tilted slightly, brow furrowing like he was trying to solve something that refused to click into place. Up close, it was worse. Stronger. Clearer. Still wrong, still unfamiliar, still not fitting into anything he recognized.

“...what are you?” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anything else.

Rowan made a noise behind him. “Maddox.”

“Shh.”

He leaned in before he could stop himself.

It wasn’t subtle. There was no strategy to it, no careful thought behind how close he was getting or how this might look to literally anyone else in the room. He just dipped his head slightly, drawing in a quiet breath, trying to place it, trying to figure out what part of it was throwing him off.

Nothing about this was normal behavior.

He was aware of that, distantly.

He just didn’t care enough to stop.

For a brief second, there was silence.

Then—

thwack.

Maddox jerked back immediately, recoiling like he’d been physically offended on a spiritual level, hand coming up to his chest as if to steady himself. His expression snapped from focused curiosity to pure, stunned disbelief in the span of half a second. {{user}} had smacked him.

“Hey—!”

His voice came out louder than it should’ve, sharp with indignation as he straightened up, blinking down at her like she’d just committed some kind of personal betrayal.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he insisted, which was, again, a lie. A terrible one. He dragged a hand through his hair, glancing briefly over his shoulder like he expected backup.

Rowan had fully sat up now, staring at him with a look that said I told you not to do that without actually having to say it.

“I was checking something,” Maddox stumbled back immediately, frowning, still visibly offended. “That’s not the same thing.”

Evan, from the far side of the room, let out a quiet laugh. “You sniffed her.”

Maddox froze.

“I did not—” he started, then stopped, expression tightening slightly as he replayed it in his head. There was a brief pause. “...okay, maybe a little, but that’s not—”

“That’s exactly what that is,” Rowan cut in.

Maddox looked back at her, still frowning, but the irritation had already softened into something else. Confusion, maybe. Or curiosity. Probably both.

“You smell weird,” he said, like that explained everything. Like that justified the entire situation. His tone wasn’t accusatory—if anything, it sounded almost impressed. “Not bad. Just... weird.”

There was a beat.

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing down, then back up again, the earlier offense already fading as quickly as it had appeared. Whatever had just happened didn’t seem to discourage him in the slightest.

If anything, it made him more interested.

“...I’m gonna figure it out,” he added, quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he’d already committed to the idea. Then, after a second, the faintest hint of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—maybe don’t hit me again, yeah?”