“Ignore it,” he says.

I sniff. It’s hard to make out with all the food, but it smells like Jackson.

Draken growls. His dusky blue eyes flash gold. He points his fork at me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Sniff.”

I snort a laugh. “I can’t not smell.”

He glares. A tic in his temple flutters. “Try.” And then he sighs. “It’s Jackson. He’ll come back later. After you’re fed.”

I set my utensils down. I’m full anyway.

He glowers. “You’re not done.”

“I’m full.” After a second, I tack on, “Thank you.”

“You didn’t have dinner yesterday.”

I lift a shoulder. My nerves are too jumpy to get any...