CASSIAN
I knew the moment he stopped watching the show. His attention shifted, turning upward toward me. He looked at me with that unguarded, direct curiosity that I still wasn't used to. He was trying to figure something out.
"Your brother," he said, his voice hesitant, the stutter threatening to return. "The way he spoke to you tonight. At the dinner. It was… I've heard that tone before."
I looked down at him. "It's a common one in certain circles."
"It felt like more than that," Noah said, searching my face. "You already know everything bad about my family. It seems fair."
I looked back at the television, the blue light of the screen reflecting in the glass of the window. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you want to tell me," he said. Then, because he was Noah, he offered the exit. "Or nothing. You don't have to."
I watched a dramatic confrontation on the screen, a woman weeping in a rainstorm.
