The rest of the day was a nightmare of being a third wheel.
Cyan was everywhere. He was between me and Cassian. He was between Cassian and the engineers. He talked constantly, shouting suggestions about the "aesthetic flow" of the scaffolding and whispering things into Cassian's ear that made Cassian smirk.
The easy familiarity they shared was like a wall. They had a language I didn't speak, a history of prison yards and shared trauma and, apparently, kisses. Every time Cyan touched Cassian's arm or adjusted his tie, that knot in my chest tightened until I felt like I couldn't breathe.
I started fading into the background. I focused on my tasks, ticking off boxes on my tablet, trying not to watch them. But I failed. Every few minutes, my eyes would drift back to the way Cassian allowed Cyan to be close. He never pushed him away. He never barked at him to stay back.
