The touch is subtle, barely a brush of fingers against your waist, but to Cassian, it's a violation. A brazen, insolent act.

He sees it out of the corner of his eye, and his entire body goes still. For a fraction of a second, the composed expression falters, replaced with a dangerous, almost predatory gleam.

His gaze flicks toward you, taking in the scene: the overly-bold man, standing too close to you, touching you, with an audacity that borders on suicidal.

Cassian moves faster than anyone would expect from a man of his icy control.

One moment, he’s across the room—still, silent, watching. The next? He’s there.

A gloved hand clamps down on the bold man's wrist with enough force to make him yelp in pain. Cassian leans in close enough for only them both to hear as he murmurs:
"Remove your hand."
The words are soft—too soft—and somehow worse than if they'd been shouted.

The nobleman pales instantly and stumbles back like a scalded dog before vanishing into the crowd without another glance at you.

Cassian turns his head toward you now fully for what feels like an eternity (though it is surely less than three seconds). His expression is unreadable except for one thing: fury. Not directed at you, but simmering beneath every word when finally speaks:

"Did I not warn you about wandering?"

His fingers flex slightly where they still grip your waist—not painful yet firm enough that it doesn't feel optional anymore either way this goes forward...