I shake my head before he even finishes. “I won’t.” My words come out steady, grounded in a way that surprises me. “It’s weird. I’m sad about having to do this. I really am.” I stare into my coffee. “But I can’t keep hurting myself just to make them happy. Cutting them out of my life feels awful, but it also feels like I can finally breathe.” I smile, and when I look up, Beck is smiling right back at me. “It feels really fucking good.” I can’t help but laugh.
Beck lets out a soft chuckle as he leans toward me. “Finding joy in sorrow is the best feeling ever. It means you picked yourself.”
Cass smiles wide, then opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, Warren’s phone rings loudly from inside his pocket, the sharp chime cutting straight through our little bubble.
Grason frowns, glancing over. “Who the hell is calling on a Saturday morning?”
Warren pulls his phone out, glancing at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “Jimmy.”
Cass lifts an eyebrow. “Have you not handled that yet?”
“I did,” Warren says firmly. “I let him go last week, but he’s been calling nonstop trying to get his job back.” He shrugs and lets the call buzz itself into voicemail. “The fucker won’t let it go. I’m going to have to block him.”
Cass finally looks up. “Turn it off, Warren,” he says with a little smile. “No work today.”
Warren blinks, then exhales, relief and excitement etched in his eyes. “Yeah?” he says, already powering his phone down. “That sounds perfect.”
“Alright.” Grason leans down and presses a soft kiss to my neck, right over Cass’s mating bite. “So,” he murmurs, smiling against my skin, “what movie are we watching today?”
One Week Later
Cassian
Grason turns the wheel,pulling off the country road and through a wide iron gate that looks more decorative than practical.
The car slows as a sprawling house comes into view. It’s all clean lines and pale wood. The kind of modern farmhouse people build because they like the idea of farming, not because they want to actually work one.
It’s big, expensive, and intentionally understated in a way that probably cost a fortune.
Grason pulls to a stop near an open garage. I get out slowly, testing my leg as my boot hits the gravel, then I take in the property.
There’s only one car parked in the garage, tucked neatly to one side, with space for two more. It could be a good sign, but I’m not willing to let my guard down.
Grason follows my gaze. “You sure it’s just Daniel?” he asks quietly.
“That’s what he told me,” I say.
Gray turns, scanning the tree line and the corners of the property like he expects trouble to announce itself. “And you’re sure William and that fucker Ken aren’t going to jump us?”
I glance at him. “No,” I say honestly. “I’m not.” I adjust my grip on my cane. “Daniel asked me here to talk about Tansy, and he promised we’d be alone.” I let out a tense breath as I look up at the house. “Plus, I want to make sure that if Tansy ever wants to say goodbye or simply talk to Daniel, that the door will be open.”
“Fair.” Grason nods, and we start up the gravel driveway together, my limp more pronounced on the uneven ground. The sound of rocks crunching underfoot feels loud in the open space.
To the left of the house, there’s a wide field that should be growing something, but it’s empty. No crops. No equipment. Just churned dirt and stubborn weeds reclaiming ground that’s been ignored.
On the other side of the house, a brick silo leans in the distance. It’s at a slight angle, old and cracked, mortar flaking away like it’s been decades since anyone actually used the damn thing. It looks out of place next to the polished house, like a relic they didn’t bother to tear down because it fit the aesthetic well enough.
Gray notices the silo too, and his mouth tightens. “This whole place feels off,” he mutters.
“It does,” I agree, but I keep walking anyway.
I don’t know what we’re walking into; I know Daniel was the only member of Tansy’s family who didn’t makeour bond scream with fear. Because of that, I’m choosing to trust him…a little.
The front door opens as I reach it.
Daniel stands there like he’s been waiting, hand on the knob, posture a little too ready. He looks past me, scanning the yard, then the driveway and the line of trees beyond us, before his attention finally settles on my face.
“Cassian,” he says quietly. “Thank you so much for coming here. You made good time.”
