Cassian POV
“I lost all my stuff,” she murmurs after a while.
“What?” To be honest, my mind is still on the s*x, which was amazing. I’m not even sure what she’s talking about.
“My stuff,” she says. “My clothes. My backpack. I left everything back on the beach.”
“Oh,” I say, taking a minute to be grateful for the fact that I knotted my pants around my torso when we were leaving. My pants that are now in a heap on the ground at my feet.
“That’s okay,” I say to Lyra. “We’ll find more.”
“Backpacks don’t grow on trees.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. “I know backpacks don’t grow on trees. They’re backpacks.”
“My mom used to say it,” Lyra says. “I asked her once. She told me it was an old-fashioned way of saying that something was hard to find. If it grew on trees, you could just go out
