It started with a single, sharp wave.
Aiden had been talking—something about patrol rotations, voices overlapping in the common room—when the world tilted just slightly. Not enough to stumble. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough that his stomach clenched hard, a sudden, unpleasant roll that stole his breath for a heartbeat.
He froze.
The nausea passed almost as quickly as it came, leaving behind only a faint chill under his skin and a tightness in his jaw. He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe evenly, fingers curling against the edge of the table until the room settled back into place.
Stress, he decided immediately.
It made sense. Too little sleep. Too many expectations. Too much noise. He'd been pushing himself harder than usual lately—longer days, shorter nights, constantly alert. His body protesting wasn't surprising.
Still, he barely touched his food afterward.
Aiden noticed that more than the nausea itself. He told himself it was nothing, that his appetite would come back later, but when evening came and the idea of eating turned his stomach again, unease crept in around the edges of his thoughts.
He ignored it.
He always did.
It wasn't until the next pack gathering that something felt… wrong.
The hall was full—warm bodies, layered voices, the familiar comfort of pack presence pressing in from all sides. Normally, it grounded him. Tonight, it felt overwhelming.
The scents hit him first.
Too strong.
Not unpleasant—no, that was the problem. Every smell seemed sharper than it should be, threading through the air with uncomfortable clarity. Fur, sweat, old wood, iron from weapons, the faint sweetness of someone's soap. Even the lingering trace of food from earlier clung to the room like a physical weight.
Aiden's nose wrinkled before he could stop himself.
His chest tightened.
He shifted where he stood, trying to subtly turn his head away, but there was nowhere to escape it. The scents tangled together, pressing in until his throat felt tight and his stomach gave another warning twist.
Focus, he told himself. Just focus.
He kept his expression neutral, shoulders relaxed, but his senses refused to settle. Every breath dragged in too much information, each one sharper than the last. He caught himself breathing shallowly, forcing air in through his mouth instead.
No one seemed to notice.
Good.
By the time the gathering ended, he had a faint headache behind his eyes and an uncomfortable hollowness in his stomach—not hunger, exactly, but something close enough to unsettle him.
Later, alone, he sat on the edge of his bed and pressed a hand to his abdomen, brows knitting together.
"Stress," he murmured quietly, the word sounding less convincing in the silence.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the pack settling for the night. His body felt… off. Not sick. Not injured. Just misaligned, like something had shifted without asking his permission.
Aiden exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
Whatever it was, he'd deal with it later.
For now, it was nothing.