"It's the only one I have."
We stood there, inches apart, the city sprawling silent below us. I could feel the pull between us, magnetic and terrifying. It would be so easy to close the distance. To lean forward and let five years of separation collapse into nothing.
But Cassian was with someone else. And I was carrying secrets I'd never told him. And some distances couldn't be closed with a single step.
I turned back to the railing, putting space between us. "We should head down soon. Rounds start at seven."
"Calla."
"Please." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Not now."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then I heard him move to stand beside me again, close but not touching.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I don't think you're running. I think you're trying to figure out what you want instead of what you think you should want."
I looked at him. He was watching the sunrise, his profile sharp against the brightening sky.
"Since when did you get so wise?" I asked.
"I am a wise guy."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "That's not how I remember it."
"Yeah, well." He finally met my eyes, and there was warmth there. Warmth and something else, something that made my breath catch. "Memory's a tricky thing."
We stayed on the rooftop until the sun cleared the horizon, not talking, just existing in the same space. When we finally went back inside, Cassian held the door for me, and our eyes met as I passed.
"Thanks for this," he said. "I needed it."
"Yeah. Me too."
He headed toward the elevators, and I watched him go. The set of his shoulders. The way he walked, confident even when exhausted. The man I'd married and lost and somehow ended up working beside again.
"Calla?"
I turned. He'd stopped at the elevator, one hand holding the door open.
"Yeah?"
"You beat me to the rooftop this morning. Don't let it go to your head."
I felt my lips twitch. "Too late."
His grin was the last thing I saw before the elevator doors closed.
I made my way to the on-call room to gather my things before rounds. My phone was on the cot where I'd left it, and when I picked it up, I saw three missed calls from Mireya.
Before I could call her back, an incoming video request lit up the screen. I accepted it.
Mireya's face appeared, her dark eyes immediately narrowing with suspicion.
"You're glowing," she said without preamble. "Why are you glowing?"
"I'm not glowing."
"You absolutely are. I can see it through this terrible hospital WiFi." She leaned closer to her camera. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I've been working all night."
