She didn’t say a word when the staff avoided her in the hall.
Didn’t flinch when Clara’s name was mentioned over breakfast, or when Elise started using the phrase “pending review” in meetings.
Cassia just nodded. Smiled. Wore black like it was armor and eyeliner like it was war paint.
But Dorian could see it.
The tension in her hands when she thought no one was looking. The way her shoulders pulled tighter each day, like her body was trying to shrink around her spine. The way she barely slept—he’d hear the soft click of floorboards in the hall at two a.m., three, four.
And she never asked for anything.
Which was why he stopped waiting for her to.
He stood at the foot of her bed at 11:47 p.m.
The room was dim, just the lamp on the nightstand casting a warm halo against the wallpaper
