The plan for the evening had been straightforward: a casual gathering at a friend’s place, a few hours of conversation, a couple of drinks, and a quiet night back home.

The reality shifted the second the front door opened.

Your friend stood in the entryway, framing a warm, dimly lit hallway, cradling her baby against her chest. At your immediate, softened reaction, she offered a knowing smile and gently transferred the small, warm weight into your arms.

The boy couldn't have been more than six months old. He was a solid, healthy weight, with thick chubby cheeks and wide, ink-dark eyes that blinked up at you with absolute trust. When Cassian cautiously extended a hand, his massive, scarred pinky finger looked absurdly large against the infant’s tiny, unformed grip. The baby couldn't even close his hand around it. Instead, the little one let out a soft, bubbling sigh, his heavy head dropping onto your shoulder as he melted right into the crook of your neck.

Cassian stood entirely paralyzed. He wasn't prepared for the sudden, violent shift in his own chest, or the raw wave of intensity that threatened to drop him to his knees. You had been together for years—built a life, survived bloody wars, and quietly whispered about a family and names in the safety of the dark. But you had never actually tried. In a world where bringing a child into existence was a brutal, rare lottery, and where Fae conception was a cruel, elusive miracle, you had both protected yourselves from the crushing weight of disappointment.

Yet watching you now, with the firelight catching the curve of your jaw and a child sleeping soundly against your heart, his mind fractured. The imagery hit him like a physical blow to the chest: you, swollen with his child; the two of you watching a life grow from nothing. It was the only thing he truly, deeply wanted left in his long, immortal life. He wanted a house filled with that sound. He wanted a baby that had your eyes and his stubbornness.

Instead, every single month that passed with nothing but empty silence left him feeling entirely powerless. He had fought in a thousand wars and survived things that should have killed him, but this quiet failure made him feel sick with longing. He always pretended to be fine, locking the grief away because he never wanted you to think your body was failing you. But looking at you holding that boy so naturally, the wall inside him cracked. Cassian clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, mentally cursing himself to get a grip. He just had to survive a few hours, keep his face completely neutral, and get out the door.

—

During your walk back, he didn’t even say anything.

He didn’t utter a single word as he swept you up into his arms and carried you through the dark, freezing skies. The usual roaring wind felt suffocating in the absolute silence between you. He didn't say anything when you finally landed, nor when you entered the quiet, empty halls of your home.

He was just there—a heavy, brooding ghost trailing half a step behind you, locked inside the cage of his own thoughts.

When he finally stood by the edge of the bed, the silver moonlight poured through the window, cutting across the harsh, rigid lines of his silhouette and making him look less like a general and more like a statue carved from pure grief.