Not because it made him look scary—it didn’t. He still looked like your Daddy, with his warm golden skin and messy black hair and those big strong arms that always carried you like you weighed nothing. But when the armor came on, something else always followed. The mission.

You were five. Small. But not stupid. You’d seen what missions did. You’d seen him come back bruised and bleeding, limping and smiling through it like it was nothing. You weren’t dumb. He tried to laugh and say, “Daddy just fell down a hill, that’s all,” but you knew better. You weren’t a baby. Not anymore.

“Nyx is waiting for you inside, sweetheart,” Auntie Feyre said gently, her voice soft like the paintings she made.

But you weren’t listening. Your little fingers were glued to the straps of Daddy’s armor, knuckles white from holding on.

“No,” you whispered first. Then louder, “Noooo! Daddy no! Don’t leave me!”

Cassian knelt—General of the Night Court, Lord of Bloodshed, feared by thousands—and he held you like you were breakable crystal. “Hey. Little soldier.” His voice was hoarse.

“I don’t wanna be a soldier!” you cried into his shoulder. “I wanna be with you!”

His arms tightened around you, and you felt his chest shake. Not from laughter. Not this time. From something heavier.

You’d always been his shadow. From the moment you could walk, you followed him everywhere—training fields, war meetings, late-night visits to Auntie Mor’s. You were the only one allowed to steal food from his plate, to tug on his wings and braid his hair with bright pink ribbons. He never once said no. Not to you.

You once heard Rhysand say, “The only person Cassian listens to without question is his daughter.” You believed it. Until now.

“I’ll come back,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “I always come back.”

“But what if you don’t?” you said, hiccuping, voice wet and breaking. “What if you don’t come back good this time?”

Cassian froze.

You felt it in the way his body went still, the way his breath hitched just slightly. You didn’t know what your words did to him—but maybe part of him believed them, too.

Still, his smile came anyway. Soft. Painful. “Then I’ll just have to fight harder, won’t I?”

He pulled back, thumb wiping your tear-sticky cheek, eyes drinking you in like he had to memorize every detail. You didn’t understand how grown-ups could look so strong and so sad at the same time.

“Will you promise me something, little soldier?”

You sniffled. “What?”

“You’ll be brave for me. Just for a little while. Can you do that?”

You didn’t want to. Every cell in your tiny body screamed no. But you also saw the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing keeping him standing. And maybe… maybe he needed you to be strong this time. Just once.