The silence in the room wasn't empty.
It was alive.
Breathing. Watching. Waiting.
Cassian sat curled on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees like he was trying to hold himself together not just his body, but his soul, his name, his entire existence. His eyes never lifted. They stayed fixed on the worn carpet between his feet, as if the floor held the answers to everything he'd buried.
Aiden stood by the window, back turned, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had turned white. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves like a man who'd been holding his breath for years and just remembered how to inhale.
Leonel stood beside the bed, arms crossed, jaw set. He didn't move. Didn't speak. But his eyes dark, sharp, unblinking never left Cassian's trembling form.
Then, softly, like a confession whispered into a void, Cassian began.
"I wasn't always Cassian."
Aiden didn't turn. But his breath hitched just once.
