Page 105 of Citius

“Up to you.”

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder, tensing as a group of girls approached from behind. Despite several days on a moderate-strength scent blocker, a faint whiff of pheromones leaked out.

“Let’s walk,” he said. “Have a ton of nervous energy to burn off.”

After draining my coffee, I chucked the cup into a nearby trash can and stood, slipping my phone into my back pocket.

“Don’t worry too much,” I said, falling into step beside Wyatt as weheaded east toward the far edge of campus. “I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on, but I still need to ask a few more questions. And they’re a little…different.”

Wyatt glanced up at me with a furrowed brow. “How so?”

“They’re a little more personal than you might be used to, but anything you say stays between us. I’m your designation counselor until you tell me otherwise. Okay?”

I paused, waiting to take another step until he responded. Wyatt eventually gave a reluctant nod.

“Good,” I said. “So, first question—are you still having trouble sleeping?”

“Kind of,” he admitted hesitantly. As if the dark circles beneath his eyes weren’t obvious. “Some nights are worse than others.”

“What about your appetite? Any changes there—or an increase in nausea?”

“I—I don’t think so. Never eat well in the run-up to gymnastics season.”

“What about aches and pains?”

“Back’s sore most days. Wake up with a crick in the neck, stuff like that. But I’ve had worse.”Wyatt’s gaze hardened behind his sunglasses, doubt creeping into his tone. “Still don’t get what this has to do with my pheromones going haywire.”

“Well, they’re not an isolated issue,” I explained, keeping my tone measured. “It’s a symptom of a larger problem. Our systems are interconnected. When one part gets thrown off, it can impact everything else.” My gaze drifted to the mouth of the Wittara River as it flowed into the bay. Tolliver Yards was faintly visible in the distance. “Even the smallest ripple can make waves.”

Wyatt kicked a loose rock, sending it skittering down the path. “I’m not a metaphor guy.”

“Fair enough.” I continued walking with feigned relaxation. “Have you ever encountered someone with an unusually compelling or memorable scent signature? One that you found almost irresistible?”

“No…” The furrow between his brows deepened. “Not recently.”

“But you have in the past?” I asked, keeping my tone calm and free of judgment.

He hesitated, then balked, charging a few steps ahead, shoulders hunched around his ears. “Why does it matter?”

“Trust me, it matters. A lot.” I quickened my pace.

Wyatt’s speed was no match for the length of my stride, and I stepped in front of him before he could create too much distance.

“Be honest with me. It’s important.” Changing back to a more professional approach, careful not to push too hard, I asked, “When did it happen?”

Wyatt paused, rolling his shoulders, and forced the words through his clenched jaw with a wince. “Ten years ago.”

For once, I found no satisfaction in being right. “And you only started experiencing the pheromone spikesafteryou moved?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet, almost defeated.

“Because you encountered the individual with the compatible pheromones again, didn’t you?”

The silence that followed was heavy, taut with emotion—the culmination of years of hesitation and endless regrets. But I had to press on.

“And the spikes only happen in two specific locations. First, near the Rhine Fieldhouse. And second, around Tolliver Yards. Because she also frequents those places. And no matter how desperately your alpha tries to catch her attention, pumping out more and more pheromones, she never responds. Does she?”

Wyatt took a series of deep breaths, no doubt reeling from the sting of having such a deeply held secret exposed to the cold air. “Don’t tell her.”

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