Riya Descartes sat at her desk reviewing Hunter Association incident reports, and felt... *pleasant*.
Content. Satisfied with the orderly progress of cases. Appreciative of the systematic approach to public safety. Warm feelings about the collaborative efforts of multiple departments working toward common goals.
She blinked.
*When the fuck do I ever feel warm about bureaucratic collaboration?*
The thought arrived like a blade between ribs—sharp, sudden, *alien*. Her hand froze halfway to the glass of lemon juice on her desk.
Lemon juice. She'd been drinking it steadily for the past hour. Not because she was flustered, or deep in strategic thinking, or having those deliciously inappropriate thoughts about Riyan's developing physique.
Just... because it tasted good. Because it was healthy. Because proper hydration was important for productivity.
Riya's stomach twisted.
"No," she whispered.
