“Well, this is fancy,” I said as Cassian pushed open the door to what was clearly the VIP section of the stronghold. “Secret wing? Hidden chambers? What’s next, a fucking drawbridge?”
The room was the polar opposite of my recent accommodations. Clean bed, actual rugs, fire that didn’t smell like despair. Basically luxury living for someone who’d been sleeping on stone for weeks.
He set me on the edge of the bed like I might shatter if he moved too fast. Then he knelt in front of me, which was both sweet and slightly alarming.
“You don’t have to—” I started.
He was already reaching for a basin of water, dipping a cloth. When it touched the bruise on my arm, I hissed.
“Did I hurt you?” His hand froze.
“No, you’re fine. It’s just—” I gestured at my general existence. “Everything hurts right now.”
He went slower after that, cleaning each cut like he was defusing a bomb. Rewrapping my wrists with strips torn from his own shirt, which was both practical and stupidly romantic.
The silence was getting heavy, so I broke it. “This is awkward.”
“Is it?”
“Little bit. You’re over there playing nurse, and I’m sitting here wondering why you didn’t just leave me in that cell to rot.”
His hands stilled. “Why would I do that?”
I shrugged. “Because I tried to murder you? Because I’m an Omega with zero political value? Take your pick.”
He looked up at me then, and his eyes were different. Not the storm-grey that made people flinch. Something softer. Sadder.
“Because no one did it for me.”
The words hit like a gut punch. “What?”
“When they hurt me. When I bled. When I—” He stopped, jaw working like the words were stuck. “No one ever…”
“Jesus Christ.” I reached out without thinking, fingers brushing his cheek. “How old were you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it fucking matters.”
He leaned into my touch just slightly. “Too young.”
My chest went tight. “I would’ve. If I’d known you then. I would’ve tried.”
He nodded once, throat working around words he couldn’t say.
We sat like that for a while, him holding my bandaged wrist, me trying not to think about some kid version of him bleeding alone somewhere.
“Is the bond real?” I asked finally, because we might as well address the elephant in the room.
His shoulders tensed. “Do you want it to be?”
“I asked you first.”
“I felt it the second your hand touched my chest,” he said quietly. “And again when you called me back.”
“Called you back from what?”
“The poison. The fight. The edge of not giving a shit if I lived or died.” He met my eyes. “Then I felt you screaming inside me, and suddenly dying wasn’t an option anymore.”
“I didn’t know I was doing that.”
“You reached across the bond like you’d been doing it your whole life.”
I touched his jaw again, just to see what would happen.
The world tilted.
Warmth flooded through me—not just heat, but actual healing. The ache in my ribs faded. The cut on my knee sealed. Like someone had hit the reset button on my entire nervous system.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “Did you feel that?”
Instead of answering, he pressed his forehead against mine. His hand found my waist, thumb tracing small circles that made the bond hum with something that felt dangerously close to contentment.
“I don’t understand how this is real,” I whispered.
“Neither do I,” he said. “But I know I’d burn the world to keep it.”
That’s when I started crying.
Not pretty tears. The ugly, soul-deep kind that felt like they’d been building for weeks. I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to hold it in, but it was useless.
“Fuck,” I choked out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”
“Don’t.” He pulled me against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head. “You don’t have to apologize for breaking.”
I gripped his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me anchored. “This is so fucked up. A week ago I was trying to kill you, and now—”
“Now you’re stuck with me.” His lips pressed against my hair. “No more cages. No more chains.”
“What if someone tries to take me back?”
His arms tightened around me. “Then I’ll kill them.”
