Boarding was called. Cassian stood first, offered his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I stared at it.
He waited.
Not forcing. Not pressuring. Just there.
Choice.
My fingers slid into his.
The contact was simple and electric.
We walked to the gate together, hand-in-hand, and I felt the shift happen in real time—people registering us as a unit. A couple. A thing.
My stomach twisted, but it wasn’t only fear.
It was the thrill of being seen with him.
And that was the most dangerous part.
On the plane, he took the window seat without discussion, leaving me the aisle like he’d already decided he wanted a line of sight to everyone who might come near us.
Of course.
He stowed bags, settled, and the moment we were in the air, the world outside became cloud and bright sky, and the cabin noise softened into a steady hum.
I watched his hands for a minute—strong, capable, scar at his wrist visible where his sleeve rode up.
“You’re thinking again,” he said.
I looked at him. “You like saying that.”
“It helps you,” he replied.
“How.”
“It brings you back.”
My breath caught slightly. “Back from what.”
“From getting too far ahead,” he said. “You do that.”
I exhaled. “Because if I can predict, I can control.”
His gaze held mine. “And if you can’t.”
“I panic,” I admitted, softer than I meant to.
Cassian’s eyes didn’t soften. But his hand lifted, slow, and settled over mine where it rested on the armrest.
My pulse jumped.
“What?” I asked, voice thin.
“You’re here,” he said.
My throat tightened again.
