I still don’t know who he is. Or what he is exactly.
But I know one thing: he stayed behind so we could get away.
He gave us a chance to escape. To survive.
He chose to save us. To saveme.
And I couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.
Even charged up by Talon and Cassian, I was useless. I couldn’t summon my scythe. I couldn’t land a single blow. I couldn’t stop her. I still can’t.
And just like that, the truth hits me.
This can’t continue.
I need to get stronger.
Right fucking now.
Iwait outside Sabine’s workplace, barely holding myself together. The only thing keeping me remotely sane is the ping of her phone. But even that doesn’t fully reassure me she’s actually safe.
That’s why I’ve already texted her a dozen times, asking for proof. Anything to confirm she’s okay. Thankfully, she wasn’t too pissed about this morning to ignore me. She sent a photo from the supply closet and even rolled her eyes in the corner of the frame like I’m being ridiculous.
So there’s that.
It should calm me down.
But of course, it doesn’t. Not really.
My mind keeps racing with every possible trick that sick bastard might pull. All the ways he could have planned for a moment like this just to mess with me. If he managed to find my phone and send a message from it, something that should have been impossible, then who’s to say he couldn’t fake a photo from Sabine and send that too?
That thought has me standing outside her workplace like I’m the one acting suspicious, frozen in place and unable to leave.
I need to see her with my own eyes and make sure she’s okay. And when I do, I’m telling her I saw him.
Her peace matters to me. God, I don’t want her paranoid like I am. But she needs to know. She needs to be afraid of him again.
Fear matters. Fear keeps us sharp. Fear keeps us alive.
I shift from one foot to the other, eyes locked on the tinted entrance. My palms are damp. My nails have left little crescent marks in my skin from how tightly I’ve been clenching my fists. I can’t stop scanning the parking lot, the building’s corners, every shiny surface that might reflect his image back at me.
Five more hours pass before Sabine finally gets off work.
The doors slide open with a mechanical hush, and she steps out, squinting against the sun. Her braid’s come loose. Her shirt’s wrinkled. She looks exactly like the photo she sent me earlier.
Exactly.
And still, my body doesn’t settle.
I step forward before I can second-guess it. Calm. Controlled. I stop just short of her path and let her walk straight into my shadow.
She startles, just slightly, and looks up.
“Jesus, Cassian,” she mutters, clutching her chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
I’m scanning her face, her arms, her posture. Is she limping? Is she tense? Are her pupils blown, like she’s scared and trying to hide it?
