Naomi’s Pov

The small room Cassian led me into wasn’t much, just a narrow bed, a wooden chair, and a single lamp that flickered like it was tired too. The safehouse wasn’t meant for comfort. It was meant for hiding. Surviving.

But the moment he closed the door behind us, the room felt different.

Smaller.

Warmer.

Heavy with something neither of us knew how to name yet.

Cassian stood there for a second, back against the door, breathing slowly, like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes didn’t move from me. Not once.

“You can take the bed,” he said quietly.

“I’m not sleeping,” I whispered.

He hesitated, then...