Dax felt the omega's weight shift just before the sound left his throat. One heartbeat Chris was muttering about catering, the next his pupils flared wide and his fingers twitched, the bitten-off pastry falling to the plate. The burn of poppy hit his own nose a second later and every calculation in his head went white.
He moved before he thought. The tablet hit the table, his arm slid around Chris's back, and he hauled him out of the chair and against his chest. Small body, hot, already trembling, his airway closing under his hands. He kept his face carved into calm because everyone was watching; inside, the old violence was already prowling for somewhere to go.
"Epi," he said, low and even. His own voice sounded like someone else's.