I was curled up by the wide bay window in my room, sketchbook balanced on my knees. My pencil moved lazily across the page, barely leaving a mark — just enough to keep my hands busy while my mind wandered. The morning sun poured through the gauzy lace curtains, filtering the light until everything looked like it was underwater. Soft. Golden. Dreamlike. Dust motes swirled in slow spirals in the air, catching the light like tiny ghosts, and the whole room felt suspended in that fragile stillness you only get in the early hours.
It should've felt peaceful.
But it didn't, because something was off. I could feel it.
Cass had been quiet all breakfast. And not in his usual "I hate mornings, don't talk to me" kind of way. Not sullen. Not sarcastic. Not even annoyed. Just... quiet. Still. He didn't even argue when I teased him. Barely smiled when I stole the last piece of toast off his plate — and he always made a dramatic fuss about that, even when he didn't really care. Today, he'd just blinked at me like I was far away, then went back to sipping his coffee and glancing at Sera like she might vanish between one breath and the next.
So I wasn't surprised when there was a knock on my door a little while later. It wasn't the Cass-knock — not the loud, goofy "get ready, chaos incoming" rhythm I'd grown up with. This knock was soft. Hesitant. Barely more than a brush of knuckles against wood.
I paused, pencil mid-sketch. "Yeah?"
The door opened a crack. Cass leaned against the frame, one arm braced above his head, the other tugging slightly at the hem of his t-shirt like he didn't know what to do with his hands. His hair was still damp from a shower, soft and a little unkempt around his temples, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that hadn't been there yesterday.
He looked tired. Not physically — more like soul-deep tired.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
I blinked. "Why are you asking? You basically live here now. Half your clothes are in my laundry basket."
He tried to laugh. It didn't quite land. "Still felt like asking and that's only because you steal my clothes."
That was all it took — that quiet little phrase. Something in me sat up straighter.
"Yeah, of course," I said, nudging over on the window seat. "You okay?"
He didn't answer right away. Just slipped inside and closed the door gently behind him, as if he were afraid a louder sound might tip the whole house off-balance. For a moment, he stood there like he wasn't sure what to do next, glancing around my room like he'd never seen it before.
Finally, he made his way over, sitting beside me with a slow exhale. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. He looked at the floor, then at the window, then finally at me.
"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice rough around the edges.
I set my sketchbook aside without a word.
"I thought I had the full picture," he said. "I thought being bonded to Sera, moving in here, finally feeling... wanted, I guess — I thought the worst had already passed. I thought everything else would just be cleanup."
I frowned. "Cass—"
"But it hasn't," he said quietly. "The worst part hasn't even started."
My heart began to thud.
"What do you mean?"
"You remember the truck?" he asked. "When I dropped you off at school?"
I nodded slowly. "You got hit less than fifteen minutes later. You don't forget something like that."
"They told me it was just bad luck. An accident. That I was in the wrong place, wrong time."
I could still remember how pale he'd looked in that hospital bed. How the doctors whispered like they didn't think he'd pull through. How Sera stayed rooted in that room like if she moved, he'd slip away.
"But?" I asked.
He looked up at me — and the expression in his eyes made my blood run cold.
"It wasn't an accident," he said.
Silence cracked open between us.
I stared. "What?"
"It was deliberate. The truck. The timing. Everything. Someone wanted me out of the picture."
My voice came out thin. "Who the hell would want to kill you?"
His jaw clenched.
"Some prince named Mavier Auterus. He's been after Sera for years," Cass continued, voice low. "Not violently. Not at first. He sent her gifts. Letters. Proposals. The whole royal song and dance. But she never said yes. Never encouraged him. Just kept hoping he'd get bored."
"And he didn't."
"No. Instead, he found out about me. That she bonded to someone else. Chose someone else."
My throat closed up.
"And that someone was you."
He gave a bitter little smile. "Yeah. A street rat who had a lot of debt to his name who used to sleep scared for my. That's who she picked. That's who she bonded to."
I whispered, "So he tried to kill you."
He nodded.
"To make it look like an accident."
"Yeah."
"You could've died."
"I know."
"And you didn't even know until last night?"
He shook his head. "Sera told me. Said she didn't want to scare me. Said she thought she could protect us without us knowing."
My hands trembled in my lap. "God. This is insane."
"I know," he said again, softly.
I stared down at my sketchbook, heart thudding.
"Okay," I said shakily. "So what now? Do we leave? Run? Call in backup? Fake your death and disappear to Paris?"
Cass let out a short, humorless laugh. "Tempting."
"But?"
"I'm not leaving," he said, voice steady.
"Cass—"
"I'm not running, Tiff. Not this time."
"You almost died."
"I know."
"You're just a guy. You were a thief. You're not— you're not trained for this. You're not a vampire. You're not royal. You're not...you said you'd leave if things got too dangerous."
"I know."
"So why?"
He looked at me, eyes bright and steady. "Because I love her."
It felt like everything stilled around us.
"I didn't mean to," he said. "When I broke in that night, I didn't even expect to live through it. I was just trying to find something I could sell, maybe enough to pay debts and rent."
"But she caught you."
"She caught me," he said, almost fond. "Didn't even flinch. Didn't call the police. Walked in barefoot, holding a glass of blood like it was a damn cocktail, looked at me like I was already hers."
"And?"
"And she let us stay. Gave me a room, food, car. Gave me something I never thought had."
"What?"
He smiled faintly. "A future."
My chest ached.
"You think love is enough to survive someone like Mavier?" I asked.
"No," he said. "But I think love is enough to make the fight worth it."
For a long, quiet moment, neither of us spoke. Then I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder. He didn't flinch. He just sighed, leaning his cheek against the top of my head, warm and steady.
"You're a dumbass big brother," I muttered.
"Yeah," he murmured. "But I'm her dumbass."