The hospital smelled like antiseptic and lemon-scented cleaning spray. Cassian Moretti leaned against the sterile white wall of Room 202, arms crossed over his chest, his coat draped loosely around his tall frame. One foot tapped idly against the tiled floor.
Impatience was not a good look on him, but he wasn't here for that kind of advice. He didn't do hospitals. The last time he'd stepped into one, his friend had been pronounced dead. But this was different. He'd sent her here. The girl, Lisa, according to the name scrawled on the patient intake form, had fallen off her bicycle outside his favorite café, landing awkwardly on her ankle. She'd laughed away those who had tried to help her, limping to her feet, and Cassian had sent his men to take her to the hospital.
Why he was even here to check in on her when he usually didn't do so for anyone else, confused even him. The door creaked open. Lisa stood in front of him now, propped on one leg, the other wrapped in a compression bandage. Her hair was a wild, glorious mess around her face.
"Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Moodily-Leaning," she said. "Oh, hello? You must be my benefactor."
Cassian blinked. "You're fine?"
"Well, the doctor says I have the ankles of a Victorian orphan, but yeah, I'm breathing. Thank you."
He let out a breath. "Good."
She tilted her head, scrutinizing him. "You don't strike me as the type who randomly helps damsels in distress. Let me guess—you secretly rescue puppies too?"
"Only the ones that bite," he murmured, then glanced past her to the nurse behind the desk. "Do you have someone to call?"
She scoffed, limping toward the exit. "Unless you count my nine-year-old brother, not really."
He paused. "You have a brother?"
"Yep." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "He's adorable. Stubborn. Sticky fingers. Loves Iron Man comics."
Cassian blinked again. The edges of his mouth twitched. "Sounds like a menace."
"He's my menace," she said simply, then added, "Look, I'm not fishing for sympathy. It's just life."
He didn't respond, just held the door open. The hallway was quiet. Her limp was pronounced now, and she hissed as she walked.
Cassian stepped ahead. "You shouldn't walk on that."
"Thanks, Mom." He stopped, then turned so fast she nearly bumped into him. His voice was dry. "Would you prefer I carry you?"
She snorted. "Tempting, but I think you'd drop me out of spite."
His lips twitched again. Twice in one night. It was a new record. "I have a car," he said, jerking his head toward the parking lot. "I'll drop you off."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, Mr. Broody. But if you murder me, I'm haunting you. I'll rearrange all your furniture. Slightly."
"Duly noted."
She lived in a part of town lined with crumbling apartment buildings, flickering streetlights, and the distant thump of music. It wasn't a safe place. Not by his standards. And he knew a lot about unsafe places.
Lisa glanced at him. "Don't look so offended. I said I was broke."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your silence is extremely loud."
The car stopped in front of a small gray building. The windows had mismatched curtains, and a rusted tricycle was chained to a railing. She opened the door and turned back.
"Thanks for the ride. And the… you know, hospital bill."
"You're welcome."
She hesitated. "You're not as scary as you look."
"You just haven't seen me on a bad day."
She grinned. "I'll take your word for it." She limped up the stairs, waved, and disappeared behind a chipped blue door.
Cassian sat there for a beat, staring at the spot she'd been standing in. Then his phone buzzed. He tapped the driver. "Downtown."
The soft air shifted to a harsh, cold one. The clean lines of the Vale empire hid a blood-soaked heritage, and Cassian was its ruler. Even if he tried to keep his hands from getting too dirty, they still smelled like iron.
When they reached the port, he stepped out of the car. The warehouse reeked of cold oil and rage. Cassian stood across from Nico Graves, who leaned back on a stack of ammunition crates like it was a damn beanbag.
"You know," Nico drawled, turning his golden-ringed hand in lazy circles, "if I had known you were moonlighting as Florence Nightingale, I would've brought flowers. Or a bullet."
"Did you call me here to be obnoxious, or is there an actual point?"
"Lucien wants to move tech through the docks. Your docks."
Cassian's jaw ticked. "That wasn't the deal."
"Deals evolve, Moretti." Nico's grin split wide. He stood, pushing up the snakeskin sleeves of his jacket. Yes, the man was wearing full snakeskin. Again.
Cassian didn't flinch. "Tell Lucien to grow a spine and call me himself."
"You two used to date. I thought he had your number permanently inked somewhere tender."
"Try that joke again and see how funny it sounds with broken teeth."
"Ooh," Nico said with mock admiration. "So stern. So terrifying. You sure you're not just in heat for clumsy girl?"
Cassian didn't reply. The flare of his nostrils said enough. Of course, the bloody bastard found about Lisa.
Nico smirked. "Thought so. Keep an eye on that one." He brought out a brown folder, and handed them to Cassian. Inside were surveillance photos. Men in black coats. A van. A warehouse.
Cassian's gaze narrowed. "That's our shipment," Nico muttered. "Intercepted in Ward 7. Same mark as the last hit."
"Larsen?" Cassian asked.
Nico nodded once. "Looks like he's moving on your territory again."
Cassian's hands clenched briefly. He stood straight, slow and deliberate. "We warned him." The bastard must be thinking he could cross Cassian.
Nico raised a brow. "You going there, tonight? Bosses don't usually get their hands dirty."
Cassian glanced over his shoulder, the barest glint in his eye. "That's why I'm not most bosses. We let them load tonight. Then we burn the trucks."
"And the men?"
Cassian paused, then shrugged. "Accidents happen. Take care of Lucien."
***
The city cooled in the night, lights blocking out the stars. He parked himself outside a liquor store, debating whether the night required bourbon or just the illusion of control. That's when he saw him.
That weird omega from the café. The one with wide, permanently confused eyes. The one who moved like he was halfway through a thought that kept vanishing. He was standing under a broken streetlamp, arguing quietly with a vending machine. Or maybe with himself.
The omega banged on the machine. "Just give me the damn crackers! I'm dying!"
The machine sputtered. Nothing came out. Then, because God had a sense of humor, the base of the pole holding the lamp sparked, then began to creak.
Cassian stepped out without thinking. "Hey! Move!"
The omega turned, still chewing out a word, and then shrieked as the lamp gave way. Cassian tackled him just as it crashed, a metallic scream and a shower of sparks. They landed hard, Cassian's arm around his head, the omega blinking up at him with shocked blue eyes.
"Okay," The omega wheezed. "Wow. Um. Hi. It's you."
Cassian blinked. "Yes," he said, deadpan. "It is me."
The male forced himself out of his grasp, scrambling upright, muttering something about 'cringe' and 'plot' "God, why now? The cafe's not enough. Next, he will tell me I reek again."
Cassian stared, rising as well. Yes, this omega is very strange.
"I didn't even get my crackers. Stupid machine."
"Tragic," Cassian murmured, brushing dust off his suit.
Elias blinked. "Thanks...?"
"Cassian."
"I know."
That left Cassian feeling a mix of surprise and annoyance.
"And you are?"
"Elias. You can go now."
Was this twerp dismissing him? "Do you know who I am?" Cassian asked in a threatening tone.
Elias ran his hand down his face. "He's fucking growling, Jesus. I'm going to kill you, Ashley once this weird dream thing is over and you," he pointed at Cassian, "I'm just a side character and nothing of importance so you can go rescue cats and damsels in distress or whatever it is you do."
Cassian could not help but wonder if the omega hurt his head in the fall.