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TWENTY

CASSIAN

C assian woke before the sun.

The ruins of Skyforged still slumbered around them, stone bones curled under the weight of centuries. The wind had turned colder in the night, brushing over his bare skin like a warning.

Seraphine lay beside him, her breathing slow, peaceful. One arm draped across his chest like she still thought he might disappear.

Maybe she was right. Because for the first time since this whole cursed quest began, he was afraid he would.

Cassian didn’t move at first. He stared up at the open sky, watched the stars blink out one by one as dawn tried to bleed through.

Last night had been...

Real.

Too real.

Her fingers had trembled like his. Her mouth had searched his like she was trying to memorize the shape of what they’d never say aloud.

It meant something. That was the fucking problem. Because meaning came with a cost.

He slipped away as quietly as he could, dressing in silence and stepping through the skeletal remains of the temple. The others were still camped near the fire, curled in their own tired corners of the world.

He didn’t look at them. Didn’t want to see the questions in their eyes. Didn’t want to answer the ones in his own.

He found a crumbled stairwell that led nowhere and sat on the edge of it, letting the cold seep into his bones. He needed the numbness. Because if he let the heat back in, it’d burn too bright.

The shadow crow came just after sunrise. Its wings were slick with dew and magic, its talons curled around a scroll sealed in black wax. Cassian didn’t touch it. Not until it dropped the message into his lap and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

He recognized the seal.

Drakar.

The Emperor’s voice was in the ink, smooth and cruel.

“Seraphine is to proceed alone. The Court requires clarity of loyalty. Your presence compromises her standing. You will not accompany her further. This is not a request.”

No signature.

Just command.

Cassian’s vision went red.

He stormed back to the camp like a fuse already lit.

Seraphine was up, braiding her hair, her back to him.

“Tell me you didn’t know,” Cassian said, his voice low and tight, shaking with betrayal.

Seraphine turned slowly. “What are you?—?”

He hurled the scroll at her feet. The black wax cracked open as it hit the dirt, bleeding ink and threat.

She stared down at it.

Then up at him.

“I just got it,” she said. Quiet. Too quiet.

“Of course you did,” he snapped, stepping toward her like the truth was a blade between them. “Let me guess. They think I’m a threat. That I’m too close. That I’ll ruin your fucking image.”

“That’s not fair?—”

“Isn’t it?” His laugh was sharp and cruel, edged with hurt. “They want to cut me out. Leave me behind like a spent weapon. Like I haven’t carried this fucking mission on my back.”

“You’re not a tool, Cassian.”

“Then say it. ” His voice cracked, the anger melting just enough to show the wound beneath. “Say I matter more than what they think.”

Her lips parted. No sound came out.

She hesitated.

In that space—tiny, breathless—he saw the war behind her eyes. Felt it in the way her hand twitched toward him but didn’t move.

Cassian stepped back, like he’d been shoved. His chest rose and fell, each breath shallower than the last.

“Yeah,” he said, softer now. “That’s what I thought.”

“Cass—”

“No.”

He turned from her, fury and pain fusing into something sharp in his gut.

“I’m not gonna beg to stay,” he said. “I’ve bled for this mission. I’ve bled for you. And I’ll see it through.”

“Even if you have to go alone?”

He looked over his shoulder, jaw tight.

“I’ve always been alone.”

But before he could take another step, Seraphine’s voice cut through the camp like lightning.

“Not anymore.”

Cassian stopped. Slowly, he turned.

Seraphine stepped forward, eyes blazing—not with fire, but with purpose.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “Not without me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, louder now, looking at him like he was the only person who mattered. “I’m done letting them decide who I’m allowed to fight beside. Who I’m allowed to feel for.”

“Seraphine…” his voice faltered.

She stepped between him and the path. “This isn’t just my mission anymore. It’s ours. You are not expendable. You are not a shadow. You’re Cassian Veyne. And I’m not finishing this without you.”

A stunned silence fell over the camp.

Lira stood up, brow raised in awe. Brann looked like he might cry. Even Alek’s stoic posture cracked, nodding once with grudging approval.

For the first time, Seraphine didn’t sound like a Drakar heir.

She sounded like a queen.

Cassian stared at her, heart pounding at her defiance. At her declaration.

She’d chosen him.

Openly. Boldly. In defiance of everything she was raised to obey.

He took a slow step forward.

“You sure about this?”

She nodded, unblinking. “To hell with my father.”

Later that night, as the others drifted off, he didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t leave a note.

Didn’t trust himself to look her in the eye one more time.

If he did, he wouldn’t leave at all.

He had to.

Not because he didn’t want to finish this with her—gods, he did. He wanted to fight beside her. Bleed beside her. Burn the Hollow to the ground just to keep her safe.

But if he stayed, she’d follow him straight into that grave.

He couldn’t let her.

Not after everything she’d already risked.

Not after the way she’d stood in front of him and told the Empire to go to hell.

Cassian had never done anything for anyone but himself. Survival had been his gods for most of his life. But this?—

This was different.

This was love.

Love meant walking away, even when every part of him screamed to stay.

Especially then.

Because Seraphine didn’t know what he’d seen.

Didn’t know what it would cost to seal the Hollow.

But he did.

So he shouldered his pack, slid the shard into his belt, and stepped beyond the reach of firelight.

The trees swallowed him in shadow.

One hand curled around the hilt at his side.

The other pressed to his chest, where the vision still burned like a promise he’d never sworn aloud.

With every step, he vowed?—

I will finish this.

Even if it kills me.

Because it had to.

Because she couldn’t be the one who paid the price.