The motel room smelled faintly of dust, old carpet, and the lingering trace of rain carried in through a cracked window. A yellow lamp near the bed cast uneven light across the walls, revealing scratches in the paint and years of wear hidden beneath fresh coats of beige. The room looked ordinary.
Cassian sat on the floor.
His back rested against the side of the bed.
His breathing came unevenly.
Across from him, Qavael occupied the chair near the window.
Watching.
Waiting.
The silence stretched.
Not peaceful.
Not comfortable.
The kind of silence that made every thought louder.
Cassian swallowed hard before finally speaking. "Does she know?"
Qavael didn't answer.
"Does Galathea know what you are?" Cassian's voice grew louder.
The ancient being remained motionless.
Cassian pushed himself upright. "You should stay away from her."
That earned a reaction.
Not anger.
Not immediately.
Just a slow turn of Qavael's head.
