Chapter 341: Two familiar strangers pt 2

Cyan

I managed to hold his gaze for about six seconds, which was longer than most people could last when he looked at them like that.

Then I broke, looking away to watch the water splashing in the fountain, my hands dropping limply into my lap.

"Was it really that bad?" he asked softly.

There was no judgment in it, just a quiet question that landed exactly where it was supposed to.

It hit that specific, raw spot in my chest that had been waiting for him to ask for three weeks without me even realizing it.

I let my face drop straight into my open hands, the dampness of my palms cold against my skin.

"You have no idea," I muttered into my fingers, my voice muffled and completely real for the first time all day.

The whole truth just started spilling out of me in halting, unglamorous pieces. I told him about the way my brain simply gave up when things got to a certain point, how it stopped processing the world to protect itself.

I told him how I had spent weeks running on a weird sort of autopilot, functioning just enough on the surface to look alive while the real part of me went somewhere completely out of reach.

The weeks had just blurred together in a dark room without any edges, the noise in my head getting louder and louder while I just sat somewhere behind it all, watching my own life happen from a distance.

Cassian listened to every word, never once interrupting. He had a rare kind of stillness when he listened to me, a complete, unmoving attention that he didn’t give to anyone else.

When I finally ran out of words, the garden felt incredibly quiet. Cassian stared straight ahead at the path for a long moment.

"I’m sorry," he said simply, his jaw tightening.

"For being that reckless. I knew exactly what I was walking into with Emilio, and I should have been more careful."

"It’s your war," I said, letting my hands fall from my face to look at him. "I chose to be there. I’m not a victim here."

"That doesn’t mean—"

"You got Emilio, Cassian," I interrupted softly, my voice firm. "It’s done now."

Something shifted behind his eyes, a brief shadow of pain passing over his features before his face went perfectly still again.

"Yes," he said, the word carrying a heavy, complicated weight.

A small bird fluttered through the thick green leaves of the hedge, the sound of its wings loud against the constant splash of the fountain.

"I saw Julian," Cassian said quietly to the gravel path. "In the dream. The entire time I was under. I thought it was completely real for most of it. I didn’t realize it wasn’t until the very end."

I went completely still beside him, not saying a word.

"It felt like..." He paused, the silence stretching out longer this time.

"I’d somehow forgotten what he looked like before the dream. And then suddenly, I couldn’t stop seeing it. Like it had all happened yesterday."

He spoke with that flat, detached tone people use when they’re trying to keep a memory at arm’s length because that’s the only way they can manage to speak about it at all.

"It’s been... inconvenient."

Hearing him use that small, sterile word for something that massive made a painful knot tie itself in my throat.

"He was real," I said softly, turning slightly toward him. "What happened to him was an unfortunate thing. You’re allowed to feel hurt, Cassian. Life doesn’t care about tough exteriors. You don’t always have to put everything in a box just to keep functioning. It can just be there, and you can still be here."

Cassian turned his head slightly, his dark blue eyes evaluating me with a strange, soft expression. "When exactly did you become so wise?"

"I’ve always been wise," I said, trying to lift the weight in the air with a small shrug. "You just weren’t paying enough attention."

"Then take your own advice first," he muttered.

A sudden laugh was surprised right out of my chest. "That’s fair. That’s genuinely fair."

The faint corner of his mouth tucked upward into that small, rare almost-smile I had spent years cataloging in my head.

This version of it was tired, a little worn down, but completely real. The small moment of amusement faded quietly, and the garden returned to its regular, steady sounds.

I waited a moment, then cleared my throat carefully. "Where’s Noah?"

"The office," Cassian replied. "There was a situation I wanted him to take care of." He paused, his gaze turning back to me with a direct, sharp focus. "You saw him." It wasn’t a question.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, looking away.

Cassian didn’t say a word; he just waited.

"Fine," I grumbled, rolling my eyes. "Yes. I was here much earlier."

"Earlier," Cassian repeated, the mental calculation clear behind his eyes. "Which means you’ve been in this hospital for a while, and you’re only sitting beside me now."

"I got held up," I said vaguely.

His eyes narrowed in that sharp, perceptive way that meant he knew ’held up’ was just a very small container for a much larger story.

"Held up how, Cyan?"

"Things," I said, staring directly at the stone fountain with intense, sudden interest. "Just stuff. Hospital things. You know how it is."

Cassian kept his eyes on the side of my face, using his heavy silence like a weapon, waiting for me to fill the space like I usually did.

But for once in my life, I kept my mouth shut. He looked like he was about to press harder, so I shifted quickly on the bench.

"Speaking of things," I said, my voice turning businesslike. "What is the current status on Marceli? What are your men saying? Because if the Vincenti fallout has reached the papers—"

"Cyan," he warned.

"—and the Lorenzo movement," I continued rapidly, ignoring him. "Has Reid confirmed whether Marceli actually knows about Emilio yet, or—"

"Cyan," he said again, louder this time. He looked at me for a long, heavy moment, then let out a slow breath, deciding to let the mystery go for now.

"My father handled it. It was officially ruled as gang activity. The entire Vincenti operating ring was dismantled, and several arrests were made. All courtesy of Charles Wolfe."

"Your father cleaned up a literal mafia war," I remarked, a little surprised.

"My father cleaned up his family name," Cassian corrected, his tone cool. "Don’t confuse the two."

"Your father also apparently helped," he said carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on my face to see my reaction.

A brief, curious shadow passed over his features.

"I heard." I replied, crossing my legs.

"He didn’t call," I said to the gravel path, my fingers tracing a seam in my jeans. "My father. Not a single time in three weeks. But he made sure to help clean up the political mess. Typical."

Cassian didn’t say anything, which was his own way of agreeing.

"So," I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on my knees. "Marceli. He’s the last one left. When he’s taken care of, the whole thing is finally done. Do you think he’s panicking right now? Now that Emilio is dead and the target has officially shifted to him? Do you think he knows what’s coming?"

Cassian’s eyes dropped back to the path, his jaw setting into that hard, unyielding line I knew so well. It was the look of a man turning over a plan that had been living in his head for a very long time.

"Marceli has been in this world longer than both of us combined," he said quietly, his voice cold and perfectly settled. "He’s survived things that should have ended him years ago. He knows. He’s known exactly what’s coming since the second I woke up."

The thin light continued to fade over the hedges, casting long, dark lines across the stones. I looked at Cassian’s sharp profile against the gray sky.

"Good," I said simply.

Cassian didn’t respond, but his eyes stayed fixed on the path, his teeth clenched. It was the expression of a man who had been waiting a lifetime for a reckoning, and who could finally see the absolute end of the waiting from right where he sat.