It’s late — most of the castle asleep, the fires burned low, the halls finally still. You’re curled up in Cassandra’s room wearing one of her loose tunics, scrolling through an old book you found. You look peaceful, comfortable. At home. She walks in, covered in blood splatter — nothing new — and starts undoing her gloves with quick, practiced flicks. But then…she sees you. You glance up, sleepy eyes, hoodie sleeves too long on your hands, and smile. “Hey, Cas.”

And her entire demeanor shifts. The bravado slips. The snark fades. Her breath catches. She says nothing — just crosses the room, drops her gloves on the floor, and cups your jaw like she’s scared you might disappear. “You okay?” you ask gently. She nods. But her eyes? Glassy. Raw. Vulnerable. “I missed you,” she murmurs. You open your arms and she doesn’t hesitate.

She climbs into your lap — yes, even with her height — and buries her face in your neck, clinging to your shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her together. “You always smell like warmth,” she mumbles. “I like that. You feel like something I never thought I’d have.” You hold her tighter, brushing your lips over her temple. “You’re safe here, Cas.” She nods, and whispers, barely audible: “I always am with you.”