Cassian’s POV

Naomi’s room still smelled of her. Lavender soap, gun oil, the faint trace of her hair on the pillow, her perfume still lingered on her dresses. But the air was wrong, stale, emptied, robbed of warmth.

I stood in the doorway and let my eyes take in every detail. The sheets were tangled, the lamp knocked slightly askew.

A chair had been dragged from its usual place, angled toward the window. The pistol I had given her was gone. I found it while searching for clues, and I carry it now in my jacket.

On the pillow lay a single white rose.

The sight of it hollowed me....