CASSIAN
The ballroom was a sea of moving parts, a complex machinery of ego and ambition, but my focus remained fixed on a single point of failure: Noah.
During my speech, I hadn't just been delivering lines; I had been dissecting him. From the podium, the perspective was perfect. I saw the way he shifted in his seat, his hands twisting a linen napkin into a ruin.
He was flushed, a deep, blooming heat creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. When our eyes met, it was like watching a live wire spark. He couldn't look away, his pupils blown wide, before he'd jerk his gaze back to the table as if burned.
Then, he stood. He excused himself with a frantic sort of grace, walking with a stiff, careful gait, the walk of a man trying to hide a very specific kind of physical predicament. I knew that look. I had caused it.
