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Quin takes it, slowly inspecting the glass.

“For saving me,” I add.

“You saved me also.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “You can thank me another time.”

Quin glances towards the front of the carriage, his expression flickering between exasperation, disbelief and faint amusement. He clears his throat, and when he looks at me again, there’s a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Is that really necessary?” he murmurs, and... his words land more softly than usual. “I’d say our debt is already settled.”

“My gratitude was a touchlacklustre on the day.”

“A touch?”

I scowl at him. “I can be grateful.” In a low mutter, “No matter my feelings on the recipient.”

Quin barks out a short laugh and swirls the dark bottle. “What is it?”

“Mood-altering spores, personally distilled for—”

Dark eyes become darker. Any hint of curled lips disappears, leaving behind a blank expression that makes me shiver.

I look from him to the bottle and back again. My stomach rises and falls on an abrupt... thought. “It’s not foryou, you!”

One brow rises steadily, awaiting explanation.

“For your academy. This is a treasure among dance houses. Not easy to obtain.”Can I sweat any more than this?“Are you not familiar with it?”

“All too familiar.” A shadow crosses his face. “I’ve since banned it at my academy.”

Blood drains from my face and in my panic, I blabber, “This is not potent. One squirt into the air for mild... arousal.”

Quin slams his eyes shut.

Silence thickens around us; I eye the door, contemplating diving out it. What... had I been thinking?

I give a weak, regretful chuckle and reach for the bottle.

Quin shifts it away. “It is, after all, a gift.”

I try to snatch it back.

Left, right, up, down, an expressionless Quin holds it just out of reach.

I lunge for the vial, but Quin shifts it again, a smirk in his eyes deepening with each failed attempt. The carriage jolts, and I fall against him, my palm landing firmly on his chest. His breath hitches, just a little, but enough to send heat rushing to my face. “Falling hard, Cael?”

My fingers glance off the bottom of the bottle—

It tilts and tumbles, and—

Smashes on the wooden floor between our feet.

My eyes widen and I slam my palm over Quin’s nose and mouth, apologising profusely. I won’t let him take so much as a whiff. With one hand, I free a handkerchief. Quin’s tight demands are muffled into oblivion by my hand. I even ignore the nip of his teeth against my palm, and yell for Aklo to halt.

The carriage comes to a jarring stop. Hurriedly, I lift my hand and cover Quin’s nose and mouth with the handkerchief.

My vision blurs; a wave of heat washes through me. I stumble back and pant, “We need to get out of the carriage.”

Quin’s gaze pierces mine from above the cloth. “Not potent, eh?”