“I know,” Cassian replied.
“You read my work?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Yes.”
The admission startled me.
It shouldn’t have. He’d already admitted he paid attention. Still, hearing it said plainly—yes, I read you—made my pulse jump in a way I didn’t want to examine.
“And?” I pressed.
He didn’t look away.
“I respect conviction,” he said.
“That’s not agreement,” I replied.
“No.”
I leaned forward slightly. “Do you agree with me?”
Cassian’s gaze stayed steady. “I agree that cruelty is unacceptable.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A faint shift crossed his face, like a shadow passing over something controlled.
“You want absolutes,” he said. “You want me to confirm your worldview or oppose it.”
I lifted my chin. “I want honesty.”
“You’re getting it.”
“That feels like avoidance.”
His mouth curved slightly, barely there.
Aunt Mabel’s eyes brightened, amused. “I told you she corners people.”
“I don’t corner,” I said.
“You do,” she replied. “You always did. You’d sit at this table with a question and refuse to eat until you got an answer you liked.”
“That is not true,” I protested.
“It is absolutely true,” she said. “Your mother called it ‘persistence.’ I called it ‘exhausting.’”
Cassian’s gaze flicked to mine. “You still do it.”
“I ask questions,” I corrected.
“You apply pressure,” he said calmly.
“That’s called being thorough.”
A flicker moved through his eyes. “Yes. It is.”
The way he said it made my stomach tighten. It wasn’t an insult. It was recognition … again.
