The night was thick, black, and suffocating, so quiet that even the crickets in the tall weeds sounded like a roar in Cassian's ears.
Crouched in the damp dirt beneath the lower window sill, Cassian stayed pinned flat against the rough stone foundation. He had sprinted across the open yard the exact second a dark cloud veiled the moon, moving from the shadow of the haystack to the timber wall without making a single sound. He held his breath, pressing his cheek close to the grain of the wooden paneling, listening to the heavy, suffocating stillness inside the house.
A dull clack echoed from the dining room—a wooden spoon striking against a clay bowl.
"So... how was your day at the shop, Amy?" A man's raspy, tired voice asked, heavy with a playful energy.
"Okay."
One dead word.
The air inside the house instantly curdled. Even out in the night air, Cassian felt the sharp spike of hostility radiate straight through the thin wood panels.
"Okay, we can't keep doing this." The man slammed his open palm flat on the table, making the pottery rattle.
"The two of you need to talk. Right now."
A woman's voice let out a sharp, bitter laugh that lacked any true warmth. "Okay. Fine. Tell her to stop."
"Stop what?" Amy's voice cut in, surprisingly quiet, but still sharp
"Don't play coy with me, child!" the woman barked.
"I won't."
"I see." A long, disgust-laden sigh followed. "Then there is nothing left for us to talk about."
"Come on, Jacq, don't be like that," the man pleaded, his voice carrying the weight of a negotiator who had already lost.
"Why does she want me to stop?" Amy challenged, her tone rising through the timber wall. "Why does it bother her so much that I am out there trying to work?"
"I don't know. Why don't you enlighten us, Jacq?"
Silence. A stubborn, stone-cold silence from the woman.
"If she doesn't have a valid reason," Amy declared, followed by the harsh scrape of a chair leg against floorboards, "then I won't stop. I am going back to the shop tomorrow morning."
"Okay." The woman's tone shifted into a cold, terrifying quiet that set Cassian's instincts on edge. "But you aren't going anywhere tomorrow."
"And why is that?"
"Because you need to be fitted. In case you've forgotten, there is a dress code for the ceremony. A very strict one."
A small, strained hum came through the wood from Amy—a desperate, trapped sound of someone realizing the walls were closing in. "I won't be able to make the fitting. I have work at the tavern."
"I wasn't asking for your permission, Amy."
"I won't need any wedding clothes, Mrs. Fitz," Amy said, her voice dropping an octave, rigid as cold iron. "Because I am going to pay him off."
"Have you made enough to pay him back?" The woman's voice turned utterly venomous. "Answer me! Have you raised the coppers?"
Dead silence. No answer came from Amy.
"Exactly." A malicious sneer echoed through the timber. "You will stay right here in this house tomorrow."
"No," Amy breathed, her chest clearly heaving based on the sharp intake of air through her teeth. "I won't."
CLANG!
A heavy wooden chair pitched backward onto the floor, and a palm struck the heavy dining table with a sound like cracking timber in the small room.
Cassian flinched in the dark dirt, his right hand dropping instinctively to his sword hilt before he forced his muscles to freeze.
"You want to know why I want you to stop?!" The woman shrieked, her voice contorting with wild, unbridled emotion. "Because you are wasting your time! You know just as well as I do—as we all do—that you can't make enough money to pay him back in time! It is too late! You get married this weekend, Amy! You belong to him now, and you don't even have a finished dress to suffer in!"
Married?
The word hit Cassian like a physical blow to the chest. Everything clicked into place with terrifying, clarity. That was it. That was her fuel. That was the hidden current turning her wheel day after day. The threat of a forced marriage. The desperate, dying hope that she could buy back her own body and freedom with coppers scraped off the tavern floor.
"Suffer is a strong word she doesn't mean that Amy" The man spoke
"So what?!" Amy yelled back, her voice finally breaking under the weight of raw, overflowing emotion. "You think I should just give up?! You think I should just lie down and let that man take me?!"
"That's not what she means, Amy," the man chimed in hastily, his tone frantic and placating as footsteps shifted on the floorboards. "She just wants you to... to accept the truth of our situation. It isn't giving up. It's just accepting reality."
"Well, I refuse to accept it!"
"Why must you be so impossibly stubborn?!" the woman barked.
"Because you went behind my back!" Amy screamed, the raw power of her voice vibrating through the thin cedar wall Cassian leaned against. "You signed my life away without my consent! I had no say when you sold me like livestock to pay your debts, but I will never let you tell me how to react to it! I will fight it until the very last second"
A chair scraped violently against the floorboards as she spun on her heel.
The room inside went dead silent.
Cassian stayed pinned to the foundation, listening intently to the muffled sound of feminine sobbing echoing through the thin walls, followed by dragging, heavy footsteps walking away toward the back rooms of the cottage. An interior door slammed shut with a finality that shook the window frame above his head.
Absolute, icy stillness returned to the house.
Out in the dirt under the cold stars, Cassian slowly let go of his sword hilt, releasing a slow, measured breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He had his leverage. He knew exactly what was driving her, what she feared above all else, and precisely how to persuade her to get what he needed. No kidnapping necessary. No dragging her through the woods in chains. He didn't need to force her. He just had to offer her the one thing no one else in this city could give her.
An escape route.
and now, all he needed was a plan.