Familiar landmarks began to surface—roads I hadn’t taken in years, shops that looked smaller than I remembered.
When we pulled into Aunt Mabel’s driveway, my heart pounded.
Cassian cut the engine.
“You don’t have to go in,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied calmly. “I do.”
I looked at him.
“You’re not afraid of what she’ll think?”
His mouth curved faintly.
“I’m not concerned with being liked.”
That, at least, hadn’t changed.
We stepped out into the cold.
The house looked the same.
Yellow siding. White shutters. Lavender wreath on the door.
I rang the bell.
Aunt Mabel answered in slippers and a cardigan, eyes widening when she saw me.
“Lia.”
Her voice trembled.
Then she saw him.
Her gaze sharpened.
“Hello.”
My stomach dropped.
“You know him?” I asked.
Aunt Mabel looked between us slowly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly. “I don’t know him, personally. I know his type. They’re all the same.”
Cassian didn’t react.
He simply stepped forward, calm and steady.
“May we come in?” he asked.
Aunt Mabel nodded.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Come on.”
13
