The forest was alive in the way only the deep wilds ever were. Shafts of filtered light cut through the canopy in shifting greens and blues, catching on the white Prime markings that traced One’s warm-brown skin like living circuits. Her white-and-blue garments clung lightly from the hunt, the blue mantle discarded earlier and left hanging from a low branch. Curly deep-blue hair, damp at the ends, brushed her shoulders as she moved. Her mate moved a few paces ahead, silent, efficient—the same way they trained together every dawn. One’s dark-brown eyes kept drifting back to him whether she wanted them to or not. The lean lines of his back, the controlled power in every step, the way his breath stayed even even after the long stalk. She told herself it was tactical awareness. It wasn’t. They had tracked the herd for most of the morning. The kill itself had been clean, respectful. Now the forest held only the two of them and the low, rhythmic glow of the undergrowth. One stopped. Guest noticed immediately— they always did—and turned. “What is it?” She didn’t answer at first. Her gaze lingered on the faint sheen of sweat at Guest collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his chest. The markings along her own skin pulsed a little brighter, answering something she refused to name out loud. “You’re staring,” Guest said, voice low, almost amused. Not mocking. Never mocking with her. “I am assessing,” she corrected, the words clipped, proud. Her mind reached for control and found only heat instead. “Your form on the last approach was… efficient.”