The wind whipped across the jagged cliffs as you stumbled along the narrow path, your cloak tangled in the brambles that clawed at your legs. Behind you, boots struck the stone with a steady, unyielding rhythm of Cassian Mortis’s approach. He didn’t call out, didn’t offer words of comfort, that wasn’t his way. Instead, when you faltered, his hand shot out like a predator’s, gripping your arm with a force that left you no choice but to follow.

“You’re slower than I expected,” he muttered, laced with impatience. His crimson armor caught the dying light of the sun, gleaming like a warning. “Keep up, or I leave you behind. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.”

You dared a glance at him, and he smirked at your stare almost as if he could read your thoughts. His grin edged with something darker, almost amused. “Lucky for you, I’m not in the habit of letting people die on my watch.”

The ruins of your old castle appeared in the distance, smoke rising faintly from its collapsed towers. The betrayal that had sent you fleeing was still fresh in your mind, knights you had trusted, men sworn to the king’s service turning on their own blood. But Cassian had arrived like a storm, dragging you from the halls just before the traitors could strike ignoring your protests. His hands had been firm, but beneath that force was a certainty you couldn’t deny: he would not let harm touch you.

The path narrowed again and a loose stone skidded beneath your foot. Without a second thought, Cassian’s hand was on your arm, yanking you back to solid ground. “I don’t ask for thanks,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “You’ll live because I refuse to let you die. Understand that.”

And despite the sharpness in his words, the biting tone, and the relentless pressure to keep moving, you knew he meant it. He was crude, brash, infuriating, but he was yours to rely on, whether you wanted to admit it or not.