The grand dining hall echoed with laughter and the sharp clink of crystal glasses. Cassian sat in his chamber above, the muffled sounds of his family’s business dinner drifting through the floorboards like taunts. He knew the routine well: his father hosting, his brothers charming the guests, his mother smiling gracefully. And him—locked away, unseen.

He was halfway through a book when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Quick, light, and uncertain. Not the heavy boots of servants, nor the sure strides of his family. He stiffened, setting the book aside. His room, tucked away at the far end of the hall, was not a place anyone should wander.

The latch clicked.

Cassian’s heart seized. He was on his feet before the door fully opened, hood shadowing his mask, words caught like stones in his throat. The door creaked wider, revealing not a servant but a young woman. She stepped inside before realizing.

She was striking—red hair arranged with elegant care, her gown a deep navy embroidered with gold that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. A necklace gleamed at her throat. Her wide green eyes found him instantly.

Cassian backed away, nearly stumbling into his desk. “I—this room is not—” His voice, unused, cracked with tension.

Her face softened at once. No surprise, no gasp of disgust—just quiet concern. She raised her hands gently, as though to calm him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He stared, words failing him. No one ever spoke to him like that—calmly, kindly, as though he were not a specter in a mask. He pulled his hood lower, wishing he could vanish into the shadows. “You… shouldn’t be here,” he managed. “Please… leave before anyone notices.”

She tilted her head, studying him with an openness that made his chest ache. “Why?” she asked simply. “Are you not allowed?”

A bitter laugh almost escaped him. Not allowed. His whole life had been built on that phrase. “I…” His voice faltered. “They don’t want me seen.”

Instead of recoiling, she stepped further into the room. The faint scent of roses followed her, foreign and intoxicating in his prison of dust and paper. “Then they’re wrong,” she whispered.

Cassian’s breath caught. Her eyes lingered on his mask—gold filigree catching the candlelight—but there was no revulsion, no pity. Only quiet curiosity. He turned slightly away, hiding even the mask from her gaze. “You don’t understand,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t look at me. Not like this.”

Her lips curved into the faintest, sad smile. “Then how should I look at you?”

The question unraveled something inside him. He had no answer, because no one had ever asked. For a moment, silence filled the room, heavy but not suffocating. Her presence—soft, steady—seemed to hold the air itself together.

Finally, she spoke again, her tone light, though her eyes still held warmth. “I was only meant to find the powder room,” she said with a small laugh. “But perhaps fate thought I should find you instead.”

Cassian shook his head, unable to believe her words, yet unwilling to push her away. His chest ached with a dangerous, unfamiliar feeling. He wanted her to stay.

“You should go,” he whispered, though his voice lacked conviction. “If they discover you here…”

She hesitated at the doorway, her gaze never leaving him. Then, softer than before, she said: “Are you okay?”

The question was simple, but it shattered him more than anything else could. No one had asked him that—not once in his life. His throat tightened, words failing him entirely.

For a long heartbeat, he stood frozen. Then he gave the smallest nod. It wasn’t true. He wasn’t okay. But in that moment, her asking was enough to make him feel as though maybe—just maybe—someday he could be.