Azriel had hauled Cassian out of bars more times than he could count, but even Cassian had his limits.

You, apparently, did not.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed so easily when you’d asked him to come to Rita’s. Perhaps he should have known better the moment you’d smiled at him.

You could barely stand on your own, your words slurring into one another, and yet every time he thought you were done, you drifted back to the bar like it was calling your name.

With a quiet sigh, he stepped closer, resting a steadying hand on your hip. He leaned in, his breath warm against your right ear. He was a little tipsy himself—just enough to feel loose—but nowhere near your state.

“I’ll take that,” he murmured, smoothly plucking the glass from your hand.

You turned to glare at him, indignant and unfocused. He only lifted a brow, unimpressed.

“Don’t look at me like that.”