Chapter Two: Strangers With Pretty Lies
Althea didn't know what possessed her to turn around.
Maybe it was the way the music dipped at just the right moment, or the way the lights softened as if the room itself was holding its breath. Maybe it was the weight of Vera's earlier words echoing in her head, or the fact that for once, she didn't want to think. All she knew was that when she turned, he was already looking at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her forget how to breathe properly.
He was closer now.
Not invading her space, not rushing, just close enough for her to notice the faint scent of something warm and expensive clinging to him. Woodsy, maybe, with a hint of spice. The kind of scent that lingered long after the person was gone. His eyes met hers calmly, dark and unreadable, like he was studying her rather than staring.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
His voice was smooth. Deep. Controlled. It slid through the noise of the club effortlessly, settling somewhere low in her chest. Althea swallowed, suddenly very aware of how loud her heartbeat had become.
"I was just about to leave," she lied automatically.
He smiled then, just slightly, as if he knew she was lying and found it amusing. "Funny. You don't look like someone eager to leave."
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. "You don't look like someone who asks questions he doesn't already know."
That earned her a quiet laugh. Not loud, not careless. Measured. Like everything about him.
"Touché," he said. "Can I at least buy you a drink before you disappear?"
She hesitated.
Every instinct she had told her not to. She didn't know this man. She didn't know his intentions, his name, or the reason he carried himself like the world bent easily around him. And yet, something about him felt grounding. Dangerous, yes, but not reckless. Controlled danger was somehow more unsettling.
"One drink," she said. "Then I'm gone."
He gestured toward the bar. "After you."
As they walked, Althea scanned the crowd instinctively, searching for Vera. She spotted her briefly near the dance floor, laughing far too loudly, her arms already around a guy she definitely had not arrived with. Althea shook her head to herself. Typical Vera. She would probably dance the night away and forget time existed.
"So," he said as they stopped at the bar. "What are you drinking?"
"Whatever you're having," she replied before thinking.
He turned to look at her, brows lifting slightly. "Bold."
She shrugged. "I like surprises."
"That can be dangerous."
"So can boredom."
He studied her for a moment, then ordered two drinks with a confidence that suggested he came here often, or at least knew exactly what he wanted. When the bartender slid the glasses across, he handed one to her.
"To surprises," he said.
She clinked her glass lightly against his. "To boredom being overrated."
She took a sip and blinked in surprise. It was smooth, warm, and dangerously easy to drink. "Okay," she admitted. "That's actually really good."
"I know," he said simply.
She laughed softly. "You're very sure of yourself."
"Someone has to be."
They leaned against the bar, facing each other now. The noise of the club faded into something distant, background noise to the strange bubble forming around them.
"I'm Al—" she started, then stopped herself.
The truth hovered at the edge of her tongue. Althea Morgan. Medical student. Tired. Overworked. Guarded. But she didn't want to be that girl tonight. She didn't want responsibility, or reality, or the weight of her real life following her into this moment.
"Lena," she said instead.
It slipped out easily. Too easily.
He didn't blink. "Lena," he repeated, like he was testing how it sounded. "It suits you."
"Does it?" she asked, forcing a smile.
"It does," he said. "I'm Cass."
Not Cassian. Just Cass.
"Nice to meet you, Cass," she said, lifting her glass again.
"And you, Lena."
They talked.
At first, it was light. Where she was from, what she liked about the city, why she had come out tonight. She kept her answers vague, soft around the edges. She said she studied something boring instead of medicine. She said she was older than she was, closer to his apparent age, because the idea of him knowing the truth felt too intimate.
He didn't pry. If he noticed the gaps in her stories, he didn't point them out. Instead, he shared pieces of himself that were equally elusive. He said he traveled a lot. That he liked quiet mornings and strong coffee. That he hated small talk but didn't seem to mind it with her.
Conversation flowed effortlessly, one topic melting into the next. They laughed about the music, about people trying too hard to look mysterious, about the strange energy of new places. Every now and then, his hand would brush against hers accidentally, or their shoulders would touch, and each time, it sent a subtle spark through her.
She forgot to look for Vera.
She forgot about time.
"You're different," he said at one point, watching her over the rim of his glass.
She raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
"Most people here are performing," he said. "You're just… existing."
She felt something twist gently in her chest. "Maybe I'm just good at pretending."
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe you don't need to."
The way he said it made her feel seen in a way that unsettled her. She shifted slightly, suddenly aware of how close he was.
"You don't seem like a club person either," she said, changing the subject.
He smiled faintly. "I'm not."
"Then why are you here?"
He paused, eyes flickering away for the briefest moment. "Long week."
She nodded. "Same."
They shared a quiet moment, the music swelling around them, lights flashing in slow, hypnotic patterns. Althea felt lighter than she had in days. No expectations. No responsibilities. Just a stranger who didn't know her real name, or her real life.
She liked it more than she should have.
"I should probably find my friend," she said finally, though she made no move to leave.
"Your friend?" he asked.
"She dragged me here," Althea said. "I think she's fallen in love at least three times already tonight."
He chuckled. "Sounds eventful."
"It's Vera," she said without thinking, then winced internally. Too much truth slipping through.
"Vera," he repeated. "She sounds fun."
"She is," Althea said softly. "Sometimes too much."
She scanned the dance floor again, but Vera was nowhere to be found. Probably lost in the crowd, dancing with someone new, living her best life.
"Well," Cass said, setting his glass down. "If your friend is gone, I could steal you for a dance."
Her heart skipped. "I don't dance."
"Everyone dances," he said. "Some just pretend they don't."
She hesitated, every sensible part of her screaming caution. But another part of her, the part that had been buried under textbooks and stress, wanted to feel alive.
"One song," she said. "That's it."
His smile widened, just a fraction. "One song."
He offered his hand.
She took it.
And as he led her toward the dance floor, Althea had no idea that the lies she had told tonight would come back to haunt her in ways she could never imagine.
For now, she was just Lena.
And he was just Cass.
And the night was far from over.