The storm raged outside, wind howling through the trees, but inside, the cottage was warm. You sat by the fireplace, embroidering a linen handkerchief, when you felt his gaze. Cassian sat in his usual chair, silent, watching you with the intensity of a man who had memorized your every breath.

"You should rest," you murmured without looking up.

No response. Only the crackling of the fire and the weight of his stare.

A moment later, you felt his presence behind you. His fingers, calloused and rough, ghosted over your shoulder before retracting—as if he barely stopped himself.

"Come to bed," he finally said, voice low, almost pleading.