Not completely.
But enough.
Cassian never talks about his dad.
About his life.
About any of it.
So maybe — this really isn’t about me.
Maybe it never was.
• • •
Later that night I’m back in my room.
Alone.
I check my phone.
My stomach drops.
• • •
A string of texts from twenty minutes ago.
Ro.
Open the window
now
“Shit.”
I rush over, pushing the window up —
And there he is.
Blonde hair catching the moonlight. Breathing a little heavier than usual, like he walked fast or ran or just needed to get here before he changed his mind.
Relief floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says immediately. “My dad is —”
He trails off.
Doesn’t finish.
And I don’t push him.
I should have.
But I don’t.
Because he steps closer — and pulls me into him.
Tight.
