Cassian’s mother.
Lying in bed.
There’s a bottle of pills on the nightstand beside her. She’s clearly breathing, maybe even sleeping. Her chest rises in shallow, uneven rhythm, like she’s gasping for air throughsomething invisible. But she’s alive. Her eyes flutter. Her limbs twitch.
She’s okay.
Cassian rushes to her side, dropping to his knees as if the ground disappeared beneath him.
“Ma. Hey, it’s me,” he whispers, gently shaking her. “Wake up. I need to open your eyes, okay?”
I stand in the doorway, my heart pounding.
What is going on here?
His massive, scarred hands cradle hers, gently, reverently, like she’s made of spun glass. I take a look at her. She’s older, but with soft features. She has high cheekbones and a pale, olive-tinged skin. Looking like it hasn’t seen much sun for some time. Her hair spills across the pillow in silver-black waves, wiry in some places, still thick in others. A streak of white runs from her temple through the rest. There are faint lines carved around her lips and her brow. Worry lines, I think.
But it’s clear Cassian and her are related. It’s in their noses and the chins.
They both have that same strong jaw.
“Come on, Ma,” Cassian murmurs. He glances at me. “Shit. Do you feel the wraith anywhere? I think she took sleeping pills.”
I scan the room. My skin prickles.
“No,” I whisper, stepping forward. “She’s not in here. But… she was. She’s still somewhere in the house.”
Cassian goes rigid. “She was here?”
I nod. “You should get your mom out of here,” I say quietly. “I’ll… I’ll make sure she can’t hurt her. Okay?”
He doesn’t move.
His eyes flick to me, sharp, uncertain, like he’s holding something back.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “Not like this. You’re not—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “You’re still weak. If she comes at you again—”
“Then I’ll deal with it,” I cut in. “You can’t fight her. Not really. Not the way I can.”
His expression darkens. “That’s not the damn point.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But she’s after your mom, Cassian. And you’re injured. Running on fumes. If she shows up again, you won’t stand a chance, not without a Reaper’s edge. I still have that. Even if it’s… shaky.”
His grip on the bedframe tightens until his knuckles go white. He looks from me to his unconscious mother.
“I don’t want to leave you with that thing,” he snarls, but there’s no heat behind it.
“I’m not asking you to want it,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
A beat of silence passes between us.
Then—
“Take the dagger,” he says.
What? No way. If I take the dagger, he’ll be powerless here. A human. A desperate hurting human. With no protection?
“Cassian, I—”
