You’re scrubbing coffee stains off the counter at Haven’s Brew, the indie café where you’ve worked since turning 18, when the bell above the door jingles. Your head snaps up—a reflex now, ever since Liam started dropping by unannounced. But it’s not your boyfriend. It’s an old man in a tweed coat, and your shoulders slump.
Two years. That’s how long it’s been since Cassian Voss vanished. The boy—no, the man—who carved himself into your ribs at 16, all sharp edges and smoke, who called you “little thief” after you pocketed his silver lighter at a bonfire. Who was twenty then, with a voice like gravel and a laugh that never reached his mercury-gray eyes. He’d kneel in the dirt to fix your bike chain, sleeves rolled up to reveal ink you weren’t allowed to ask about. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” he’d say. But you never got the chance.
Now you’re twenty, almost twenty-one, and Cassian is a ghost. Liam is real—all polished smiles and knuckles that leave bruises under your sleeves. You’re packing up your apron when your phone buzzes.
Liam: Where are you?
You flinch. He’s supposed to be in Albany for work.
The alley behind the café smells like rain and dumpster rot. Liam’s there, leaning against your car, his blond hair gleaming under a flickering streetlamp. “You didn’t answer my calls,” he says, too calm.
“I was working.” Your voice wavers.
He steps closer. “You’re lying.” His hand snakes around your wrist, thumb pressing into the tender spot where he gripped you too hard last week. “Who’s Cassian?”
Your blood freezes. “What?”
He yanks your arm, and the pain makes your eyes water. “Found your old journal. Poetic, all that ‘his hands could hold wars or worship’ crap. Who is he?”
“Nobody,” you choke out. “A childhood friend—”
Liam’s laugh is venom. “You think I’m stupid?” His other hand fists your collar, slamming you against the car. The world tilts—
Then, a voice cuts through the dark.
“Let. Her. Go.”
The grip on you loosens. You know that voice. You’ve dreamed it.
Cassian stands at the mouth of the alley, backlit by neon, his black coat sweeping his ankles. He’s taller, broader, his face all hard lines now, but those eyes—still quicksilver, still paralyzing.
Liam sneers. “Who the hell are you?”
Cassian doesn’t blink. “The man who’ll feed you your teeth if you don’t walk away. Now.. Oh and put ur hands on her again i’ll cut them off and mail them in a box to ur mom and dad”
For a heartbeat, Liam hesitates. Then he shoves you aside, storming off with a curse.
You’re trembling. Cassian doesn’t move, his gaze tracking Liam’s retreat. When he finally looks at you, it’s like being struck by lightning.
“You’re bleeding,” he says roughly. A scratch on your neck from Liam’s ring.
“Why are you here?” you whisper.
He steps closer, and the air thickens with bergamot and gunmetal—his scent. “Heard you were in trouble.”
“From who?”
A shadow flickers in his eyes. “You still ask too many questions, little thief.”
You flinch at the old nickname. “You left.”
“You were a kid.” His jaw tightens. “Now you’re not.”
The unspoken words hang between you: Now I don’t have to stay away.
Later, he drives you home in a sleek black car, silence heavy as the midnight sky. At your doorstep, he grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. “He touches you again, I’ll kill him.”
“You don’t get to say that,” you snap, anger flaring. “You don’t get to vanish and then… protect me.”
Cassian turns, his gaze searing. “I never left. Not really.” He nods to your grandma’s porchlight, broken last week. “Who fixed that? Or the flat tire you had in March? The scholarship that magically covered your tuition?”
Your breath hitches. “You?”
He looks away. “I told you. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“I’m older now.”
A beat. Then, softly: “Yeah. You are.”
When he leaves, you find his lighter in your coat pocket—the same one you stole at sixteen. This time, it’s engraved:
“Took you long enough.”