Morning arrived quietly.
Not the kind that barged in with noise or demands, but the kind that slipped gently into the room, pale light filtering through half-parted curtains like it was afraid to wake her.
Juliette stirred before she opened her eyes.
Her body still felt weak heavy in that way sickness left behind, when the worst had passed but the echo remained. Her head no longer throbbed sharply, but there was a dull ache behind her temples. Her chest rose slowly, carefully, as if she were afraid to breathe too deeply and wake the pain again.
She opened her eyes.
The first thing she noticed was the light.
Soft. Warm. Not harsh.
The curtains had been drawn just enough to let the morning in without letting it overwhelm her. She hadn't done that. She always forgot.
Her gaze shifted.
A glass of water sat on the bedside table. Full. Untouched. Beside it, her medicine laid out neatly, not scattered the way she usually left things. Even a small napkin had been placed underneath, folded with quiet precision.
Juliette stared at it for a long moment.
He came in.
The realization settled gently but firmly in her chest.
He must have come in while she slept. Must have stood there, quietly, deciding what to do with a woman who had cried herself empty in his arms the night before.
Her throat tightened.
This ..this was what she had imagined so many nights and sworn she no longer wanted. This quiet care. This attention given without being asked for.
Gratitude bloomed first.
Then fear followed closely behind.
Because care, once tasted, was addictive. And she wasn't sure she survived another withdrawal.
If he keeps doing this…
The thought came uninvited.
I might start believing.
She pushed herself up slowly, wincing as dizziness briefly washed over her. She sat there for a moment, letting it pass, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress.
When she finally stood, she felt steadier but fragile. Like glass that hadn't cracked yet, but might if handled carelessly.
Cassian had already been awake for hours.
Sleep had come in fragments thin, restless things that dissolved the moment he closed his eyes. Every time he drifted, he saw her the way she'd looked the night before. Pale. Shaking. Crying in a way that hadn't been loud but had been devastating
He had checked on her more than once.
Quietly. Carefully.
Each time, he'd paused in the doorway, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, measuring her breathing like it was something precious he couldn't afford to lose.
Now he stood near the window in the sitting area, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled back, staring out without really seeing the city beyond the glass.
Maya moved softly behind him.
"She did not take her medication last night before bed
Cassian turned too fast.
All of them
The sharpness in his voice surprised even him.
Maya blinked. Then, wisely, said nothing about it only answered. "Yes sir
He nodded once, jaw tightening.
"That's fine," he said, forcing his tone back into neutrality. "Don't push her."
Responsibility, he told himself.
This was responsibility.
This was what a husband should do.
But the truth was his body reacted before his mind ever caught up. His instincts were already wrapped around her like something feral and untrained.
By the time Juliette made her way into the dining area, the house felt… different.
Not warmer.
Just aware.
She moved carefully, dressed in something simple soft cotton trousers, a loose blouse, her hair tied back in a low, unassuming knot. No makeup. No effort to impress. She wasn't trying to be beautiful today.
Cassian was already seated at the table.
Not reading. Not on his phone.
Waiting.
Maya hovered nearby, her presence gentle but alert, as though afraid a wrong word might shatter something invisible between them.
Cassian looked up when Juliette entered.
His gaze flicked over her quick, assessing, restrained.
"You're up," he said.
She nodded, pulling out a chair slowly. "Yes."
A pause.
Then, carefully: "Are you feeling any better?"
The question was casual.
But the way he asked it without distance, without armor made her chest tighten.
"A little," she replied politely. Calm. Guarded. "Thank you."
She didn't lean into it. Didn't let the moment stretch into something dangerous.
He nodded, accepting the boundary without protest.
They ate in quiet. Not awkward. Just careful.
⸻
It was later when the morning had fully settled that Juliette asked.
"My phone," she said, standing near the counter. "Did… did they find it?"
Cassian didn't hesitate.
"It didn't survive the accident," he replied evenly. "It was damaged beyond repair."
The words landed heavier than she expected.
Beyond repair.
Her chest tightened not because of the device itself, but because that meant there was no going back. No retrieving what had been left behind. No pretending nothing had happened.
"Oh," she said softly.
He watched her absorb it.
"You'll need a replacement," he added, tone practical. Controlled.
She nodded. "Yes. I suppose I will."
...
The deliveries arrived that afternoon.
One by one.
Quietly.
No announcements. No spectacle.
Juliette was in the sitting room when the first box appeared. Then another. And another.
She stood there, confused, watching as they were placed neatly on the table.
Cassian entered moments later.
Her gaze flicked to him. "What is this?"
"Yours," he said simply.
She opened the first box.
A phone.
New. Sleek. Already powered on.
Her number restored. Contacts synced. Even the wallpaper the one she'd used for years was there.
Her breath caught.
The second box held an iPad.
The third a laptop
Her hands trembled as she closed the lid slowly.
"Cassian," she said, turning to him, voice unsteady. "You didn't have to"
"You work," he interrupted quietly. "You create. You need tools."
No softness.
No apology.
Just certainty.
She swallowed hard, emotions pressing dangerously close to the surface.
The roses arrived last.
Soft-toned. Pale. Cream and blush, arranged with understated elegance.
Not loud.
Intentional.
Juliette stared at them for a long moment before noticing the card.
Her fingers hesitated as she picked it up.
The note was short.
Controlled.
We don't start over.
We continue without silence.
Her vision blurred.
She sat down slowly, the strength leaving her legs.
It wasn't the gifts that undid her.
It was the intention.
This wasn't obligation.
This wasn't guilt.
This was a man choosing not to disappear again.
Her fingers curled around the card as her chest rose shakily.
From the doorway, Cassian watched her.
Watched the way she sat so still, like if she moved, something might break. Watched the way her shoulders trembled just slightly as she breathed.
He didn't go to her.
Didn't touch her.
He stayed where he was because some things, he was learning, required patience.
Was this love?
The question surfaced again, uninvited.
Or was he only seeing it now because he had almost lost her?
He didn't answer.
Later, Juliette stood in her room, preparing for the thought of returning to work soon.
Her life slowly, carefully reaching back for her.
Cassian leaned against the doorway, watching her.
Not stopping her.
Not claiming her.
Just seeing her.
The house was no longer quiet because it was empty.
It was quiet because both of them were thinking too much.
And somewhere between care and fear, something dangerous and beautiful had begun.