Seraphine stared into the flames.
She could lie.
Say it was strategy, or fatigue, or pressure. But he was still watching her like he saw past all of that.
“…I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore,” she said.
TEN
CASSIAN
Cassian watched her in the firelight.
Seraphine’s voice still lingered in the air like smoke—quiet, uncertain.
“…I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”
She hadn’t looked at him when she said it. Just stared into the flames, like they might burn through whatever truth she didn’t have the words for.
He knew better than to poke at that kind of wound.
Hell, he’d worn the same expression himself more times than he could count—numb, angry, wrapped too tight in duty and expectation.
So instead of saying something sharp or stupid—he leaned back against the log, exhaled slow, and checked to make sure Brann was still out cold.
He was. So was Alek. Lira snored like a bear in heat, one boot off and one hand curled around her blade like she’d gut someone in her sleep.
Good. No ears or eyes.
Cassian glanced at Seraphine again, then down at the small fire between them.
“She was a healer,” he said finally, his voice quiet, rough. “My mother.”
Seraphine blinked, startled. “What?”
He didn’t look at her. Just kept his gaze on the fire.
“Before the warlines hardened. Before the Accords got enforced with blades and blood. She used to travel between Veil towns—human ones, shifter ones. Didn’t care who you were, just cared if you were bleeding.”
Seraphine said nothing, but she shifted, turned slightly toward him.
Cassian rubbed his thumb across a scar on his palm—thin and white, like a thread pulled too tight.
“She was killed in a shifter border raid. Dragonfire. Some… patrol gone rogue. Didn’t matter that she was trying to stop the bleeding. Wrong place, wrong blood.”
He laughed, but it was hollow. “They said it was an accident. Said she shouldn’t’ve been there. That she wasn’t sanctioned.”
Seraphine’s throat worked. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I’m not telling you for sympathy. Just thought… if we’re gonna bleed together, might as well know the reason I don’t flinch around dragonfire.”
She looked down at her hands, fingers curling unconsciously.
“Do you remember her?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, faint. “She used to hum when she worked. Never a song I knew—just… sound. Said it kept her from shaking. Told me once that healing was half pressure and half pretending you weren’t scared shitless.”
Seraphine smiled, small and sad. “She sounds like someone I would’ve liked.”
