CASSIAN
I drove the car myself. Julian sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the city lights as they blurred past the window. Our backup followed in the car behind us. No one spoke.
The silence lasted twelve minutes. I didn’t push him. I knew Julian. I had studied him for years, watching the way he breathed and the way he moved until I knew his rhythms better than my own.
"I caused trouble for you, didn’t I," he said finally. His voice was quiet, directed at the glass. It wasn’t a question. He had already done the math.
"It’s handled," I said.
He made a small sound that might have been a laugh if he weren’t so tired. "Yeah," he whispered. "Sure."
"Julian—"
"I’m tired, Cassian," he said, cutting off. He closed the subject the way he always did when he didn’t want to look at sothing.
I looked at his profile in the dark. The bruised jaw, the dark blood on his lip. I didn’t push. I told myself he would co to when he was ready. He always had.
I didn’t know yet that ready was going to take a long ti.
I thought I could keep it quiet. I told the n who were with us to keep their mouths shut. It made sense in the car, but by the ti we got back, I realized I was being an idiot.
Emilio was twenty years old and full of spite. He was never going to keep a secret that made him look like a victim.
Marceli found out before I even stepped into the house. Powerful n always know. They hear the whispers before you even decide to speak.
I stood in his office while he sat behind his desk. Nothing had changed about our roles, but the air in the room felt different.
Marceli wasn’t angry. That was the problem. He was thoughtful. He was looking at like I was a piece of equipnt that had just developed a very interesting flaw.
"You handled it well," he said. He sounded like he ant it. "No escalation. The truce is still on the table. It’s impressive, Cassian."
I waited. I knew there was a but coming. There was always a but with Marceli.
"But," he said, setting his glass down with a soft click. "Your man struck the Don’s son. In his own house. During a truce. That isn’t nothing, even if we’re all pretending it is."
"It’s been addressed," I told him.
"By you," Marceli said with a small, sharp smile. It was the look of a man reminding you who owned the ceiling over your head. "Not by . Which ans it isn’t fully addressed, is it?"
In that mont, I understood everything.
The exit I had been building, the plan to take Julian and leave.. Marceli had just put a new lock on the door.
Marceli didn’t scream. He didn’t use a knife. He just used the truth like a businessman uses an asset.
"Julian is your responsibility," he said, his voice almost kind. "What he does reflects on you. And what reflects on you reflects on . So, until this truce is signed and sealed..."
He paused, letting the weight of it hang in the air.
"I need you here. Focused. Not planning any trips."
That was it. The second eting was now in Marceli’s hands. He would schedule it when it suited him, and I knew it wasn’t going to be anyti soon.
The peace talks started to stretch. New conditions appeared out of nowhere. More etings were suddenly required.
The truce beca a knot that got tighter every ti we tried to untie it. It wasn’t because it was hard; it was because Marceli wanted it that way.
I understood. I didn’t say a word. To speak would be to show him that I knew what he was doing, and I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
I went to the etings. I negotiated. I did my job while the door to our future stayed locked.
Julian’s mistake was now a coin in Marceli’s pocket, and he was going to spend it whenever he felt like it.
Weeks went by. I ca back to the apartnt late after another eting that had accomplished nothing.
I sat at the table, looking at a stack of files that were just the sa lies rearranged to look like progress.
Sothing in just snapped. It wasn’t a big explosion. I just picked up the file and threw it. The papers went flying, scattering across the floor like dead leaves.
I pushed my chair back so hard it hit the wall with a crack. I slamd my fist into the plaster, just once.
I knew it wouldn’t change anything, but I needed to feel sothing other than that cold, heavy weight in my chest.
I stood there with my hand against the wall, breathing hard.
I realized Julian was in the doorway of his room, watching . He didn’t say anything.
I tried to pull myself back together, to put the mask back on, but it was too late. He had already seen the cracks.
He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just turned around and went back into his room. I was left alone to pick up the papers, feeling like a fool.
Later that night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind was running in the sa circles it had been for weeks.
I heard the door open quietly. I knew the weight of his footsteps. I knew the rhythm of his breathing.
Julian got into the bed, keeping his back to . He pulled the blanket up, and I could see the small, cold shape of the jade pendant on his pillow.
Neither of us moved for a long ti.
"Marceli is holding you here because of , isn’t he," he said into the darkness. It wasn’t a question.
"No," I lied.
"Don’t," Julian said. "Don’t lie about this, Cassian."
"It’s complicated," I told the ceiling.
He turned over to face . His eyes were wide and dark in the shadows. "I know what I did. I know what it cost us. I’m sorry."
"Julian—"
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