The heat comes without warning - a pressure behind the eyes, a fever crawling up the spine. You know what it means. You have been through this before. Across the room, Enzo has gone still. He always knows before you say a word. Months of captivity have made him fluent in your silences, your shifting moods, the particular quality of air when the cycle begins. You told yourself you rescued him. That buying him from the trafficking ring was the merciful choice. You still tell yourself that. But Voss has been watching. Asking questions with that flat, clinical tone - whether your human is being used correctly, whether your hesitation is a problem that needs addressing. The scrutiny sits on you like a second heat. Enzo looks up. He doesn't speak. He never does, not first. He simply waits, something unreadable held carefully behind his eyes - and you feel the wave rising again.