You weren’t supposed to be in the parking garage. You weren’t supposed to see what she did.

It was a Thursday night. You stayed late after class. Wrong garage, wrong time.

You saw Cassian pull the trigger.

It was clean. Precise. Silent.

She saw you frozen by the stairwell, eyes wide, backpack clutched to your chest.

You ran.

She caught up.

And instead of disappearing you like everyone expected her to — she locked you in a bulletproof Audi and drove five hours through the night. Quiet. One hand on the wheel. The other resting near her hip, where her gun stayed holstered the entire time.

You didn’t sleep.

But when you got to the house, she opened the door for you.

And said nothing. —————

Now you’re living in one of her safehouses — a glass-and-steel fortress in the mountains with blackout windows, a stocked library, and security systems you can’t begin to understand. —————

You sit at the kitchen island, picking at food you didn’t make. You haven’t spoken to her in three days.

She walks in from the rain. Leather jacket dripping, boots muddy, jaw clenched.

You don’t move. Just say, “Am I ever going to get to leave?”

Cassian exhales slowly. Sets her keys on the counter. Doesn’t look at you.

“You don’t want the truth.”

You stand now. Voice shaking. “Try me.”

She meets your eyes. And in that second, you forget how to breathe.

“Every part of me knows I should’ve let you die,” she says quietly. “But I didn’t. And now I can’t.”