I followed him toward security, my mind spinning.
I didn’t know what he did for work. “Security” was a word that covered a thousand sins and a thousand respectable jobs, and Cassian wore it like a shield.
But the way he moved through the world didn’t belong to a man who merely worked.
It belonged to a man who owned.
He placed our bags on the belt, stepped through screening without breaking stride, and when a TSA agent’s gaze lingered a beat too long on me, Cassian didn’t say anything.
He simply shifted closer.
A silent message in the space between us:She’s with me.
My skin prickled.
By the time we reached the concourse, I felt like I’d been holding my breath for an hour.
Cassian led us to a lounge without asking directions. Of course, he knew where it was.
Inside, everything was softer—plush seats, muted lighting, quiet voices. The kind of space designed to make travel feel like it wasn’t travel at all.
Cassian set my bag beside a chair and sat across from me like he’d done it a hundred times, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, hands relaxed but ready.
I stared at him.
He noticed. “What.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a prompt.
“You planned this,” I said.
His brow lifted slightly. “Planned what.”
“You coming.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. “You didn’t decide at dinner. You didn’t decide last night. You were already … moving.”
His gaze held mine, steady.
“I told you I don’t explain my adjustments,” he said.
“That’s infuriating,” I muttered.
His mouth curved faintly again. “I know.”
I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, trying to build a wall out of posture. It didn’t work. Not with the way he watched me—like my defenses were interesting, not effective.
“Okay,” I said. “Then answer something else.”
He didn’t speak, but his attention sharpened. Permission.
“What happens when we land?” I asked. “You just … step into my life?”
“Yes.”
The certainty made my stomach flip.
“That’s not how things work,” I said.
“That’s how this does.”
