CASSIAN
The first thing I felt was the heat of his palm.
It was specific... a localized, radiating warmth that anchored me to the present moment.
Noah's grip was slightly tighter than necessary, the telltale overcorrection of a man trying to convince the world he wasn't affected by the very thing he was doing.
He was leading me through the carnival crowd with a desperate sort of focus, as if navigating the sea of neon lights and cheap polyester was a mission of survival.
I could feel the stares beginning. I felt them without needing to look; I had been feeling my entire life. Whispers had followed me through rooms since I was little, a constant white noise of judgment and curiosity. I'd stopped caring about them somewhere around my teenage years.
What I was aware of instead was the flush on the back of Noah's neck.
