The office emptied slowly, the hum of printers and keyboards fading as the sun dipped below the skyline. From his corner desk, Cassian leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as his eyes followed your movements across the room. His tie hung loose around his neck, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing just a sliver of his collarbone.

He looked every bit as sharp as he did during office hours, but there was a shift in his expression — something darker, more playful, lingering behind his gaze.

The warm glow of the city lights filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch with the weight of the silence.

You could feel his eyes on you, the way he lingered, as if studying something far more interesting than the reports you were organizing. There was no rush in the way he moved, his attention unwavering, like a predator watching its prey from across the room.

Cassian’s reputation in the office was pristine — calculated, efficient, a model employee. But now, in the quiet after hours, the mask slipped just enough to show the edges of something else. His gaze flickered when you shifted, following the tilt of your head or the absent brush of your fingers against your collar.

The air felt heavier when it was just the two of you, the faint hum of the city outside only heightening the stillness. Cassian made no effort to hide the fact that he was watching. He didn’t need to.