Lyra's Apartment – Night
The buzzer rang at 10:48 p.m.
She almost didn't get up. Her laptop still open, notes scattered across the coffee table, half a bowl of soup cold beside her. She was halfway through rereading an old report, not taking in a word.
The second buzz came sharper. Like it knew something had shifted.
She moved to the intercom slowly.
"Hello?"
A pause. Then—
"It's me."
Her breath caught.
She opened the door without thinking, fingers numb, heart sprinting.
The hallway light caught on his shoulders first. Then his face.
Cassian.
Rain in his hair. Jacket soaked. Tie missing. Shirt untucked. His eyes found hers and didn't look away.
"I got lost," he said, voice hoarse. "I thought I'd lost everything."
He paused, just one breath.
"But you're still here."
She didn't ask anything else.
Just stepped aside.
He walked in, slow, like he wasn't sure the floor would hold him.
She shut the door behind him. Locked it.
Then turned.
They didn't speak. Didn't need to.
She reached for him just as he sank into her arms, chest folding against hers like something finally unbraced.
---
Later – In Her Room
They stood in silence for a long time.
Until she whispered it, voice cracked open:
"Where were you?"
Cassian looked down.
"I didn't know if you wanted me anymore. I—"
"Cassian," she said, barely holding the tremble, "I was worried sick about you."
He shook his head, shoulders tight. "I thought maybe you loved the version of me that held power. Not the one who lost it. Not the man who got stripped bare in a boardroom."
"I never asked for power," she said.
"You didn't have to," he whispered. "You still chose me."
Her fingers reached up, brushed the rain from his face.
He didn't speak again. Not right away.
But when she stepped forward and laid her forehead against his, he breathed in like it was the first air he'd trusted in days.
And he broke.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just tears. Quiet and stunned. Like they'd waited until now to fall.
She held him. Arms tight around his shoulders. His face in her neck.
And for the first time since the gala, they slept in the same bed. Clothes damp, limbs tangled, no urgency. No seduction. Just skin against skin, the quiet beating of two hearts that had nearly missed each other.
No promises.
But everything that came close