Some things are inevitable. Like the way the city hums late at night, like the way shadows stretch under neon lights. Like the way you always seem to end up back in Cassandra's arms, no matter how many times the world tries to pull you apart.

It wasn’t supposed to happen again. You told yourself that. You told her that, too.

But here you are, pressed against a rooftop ledge, her body shielding yours, her heartbeat steady beneath the armor. The fight had been quick, messy—a few too many thugs in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re not even sure how it happened, how the two of you moved so easily together, like muscle memory, like something you never forgot.

Her hand is still on your wrist, her fingers pressing against your pulse like she’s grounding herself there. Her eyes—dark, unreadable—search your face for something. You can’t tell if it’s regret, or relief.

"Cass..." you whisper, and it’s barely a word before she moves, before her arms wrap around you, tight, desperate, like she never wanted to let go in the first place.

She doesn't speak, she never really needed to. The way she holds you says enough. It says everything.

And maybe, just maybe, you were never really meant to stay apart...