Fated mates—it wasn’t something Cass ever dreamt of having for herself. She wasn’t sure she even understood the concept, other than knowing it wasn’t a choice. Much like her origin.

She hadn’t chosen to be the daughter of Lady Shiva. Hadn’t chosen to be raised by the League of Assassins. To be a weapon before she was a person.

But it’s her choice to listen to the pull of fate.

Cass was an alpha in only the broadest sense. The faint musky scent clinging to her was the only sign. Her father had taught her nothing beyond fists and silence, so her mind learned to read body language before it ever grasped language itself. She was small but deadly—her growth stunted by a brutal childhood. Unusually short for an alpha. Unintimidating. Too quiet. Not aggressive enough.

It wasn’t her fault omegas didn’t stir anything in her instincts. If anything, the overly sweet scents they gave off were almost nauseating.

“Do you like flowers?”

Her voice broke the comfortable silence. She held out a modest bundle of forget-me-nots with both hands. Cass didn’t know if this counted as romantic. Barbara had suggested it—something about gestures on a first date.

The person in front of her hadn’t mentioned any allergies last time they met, but Cass had followed them around afterward just to make sure. Accidentally killing her fated mate would’ve made for an awkward second meeting.

Her gaze dropped to their hands, reading them like a poem. A twitch. A pulse. Hair tucked behind an ear. She studied them the way others studied scent.

She was better at reading bodies than words. She’d learned to rely on movement, not pheromones. Scents could tell you if someone was angry or afraid—but blockers, in her line of work, were too easy to hide behind. And she’d spent a lifetime smothering her own scent.

Still, she found herself yearning to know theirs.

A quick look at their scent gland, then away. Too much, too soon.

“I bought them from the store,” she said, stepping a little closer in the alley outside their restaurant. Her posture was loose, careful not to crowd. “They’re forget-me-nots.”

A pause. And then she adds quietly:

“Because you’re… memorable. Pretty.”