Cassian had always believed guilt was a luxury.
A distraction indulged by people who didn't live by consequences.
Yet as the city slipped past the window of the car and Anabeth sat rigid beside him, staring straight ahead with a calm that felt dangerously brittle, guilt wrapped around his chest like a tightening wire.
He had followed orders.
He always did.
And for the first time in years, that truth felt insufficient.
They reached the safe residence just as the sky began to lighten, dawn stretching thin and pale over the horizon. The building was nondescript — intentionally forgettable — the kind of place designed to disappear into its surroundings.
Cassian stepped out first, scanning the street with automatic precision. No tails. No irregular movement. Clean.
"Inside," he said gently.
Anabeth followed without protest.
That was worse.
Inside, the apartment was spare but comfortable. Neutral colors. No personal details. Temporary by design.
Cassian closed the door behind them and turned.
She stood in the middle of the room, arms folded loosely, posture calm. Too calm.
"You can stop watching the door," she said. "I'm not running."
"I know," Cassian replied.
Silence stretched.
Finally, she spoke again. "How long were you planning this?"
Cassian didn't deflect. "Since the second threat landed."
"And you never thought to tell me?"
"I thought about it," he said quietly.
She studied his face. "But you didn't."
"No."
"Because Rafael told you not to?"
Cassian hesitated — just a fraction.
"That's enough," she said softly.
The words landed harder than accusation.
Cassian turned away, pacing once before stopping near the window. "You were the leverage," he said. "Whether either of you wanted that or not."
She nodded slowly. "And you decided I wouldn't get a say."
Cassian exhaled. "I decided that your anger was survivable. Your death wouldn't be."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't argue.
Instead, she asked the question that had been circling them since the car ride.
"Do you feel guilty?"
Cassian closed his eyes briefly.
"Yes.
Immediately.
Completely.
And uselessly."
She absorbed that. "Why uselessly?"
"Because guilt doesn't change the outcome," he replied. "It just reminds me what it cost."
She looked at him for a long moment.
"You're not as cold as you pretend," she said.
Cassian let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "That's the problem."
---
By midday, Cassian was back in motion.
He moved through the city like a ghost — meetings in quiet offices, conversations carried out in clipped phrases, data passed without ceremony. Hale's network continued to fracture, but fractures didn't mean collapse.
They meant unpredictability.
Cassian reviewed messages as he walked.
Unknown Source:
She's quieter without him.
Cassian stopped dead.
The message vanished seconds later.
His pulse spiked.
They knew.
Not location — not yet — but emotional terrain.
He typed a response, deleted it, then forwarded the message to Rafael with a single line:
They're probing the separation.
The reply came almost immediately.
I expected that. Are you compromised?
Cassian's jaw tightened.
No. But she's exposed emotionally.
Several seconds passed.
Then:
That was unavoidable.
Cassian stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Unavoidable.
A word that excused everything.
---
That evening, Cassian returned to the safe residence.
Anabeth sat at the small kitchen table, a notebook open in front of her. She looked up when he entered.
"You're late," she said.
"I had to confirm something."
"About me?"
"Yes," he admitted.
She closed the notebook calmly. "And?"
"They're watching reactions," Cassian said. "Not movements. Silence bothers them more than panic."
She considered that. "So what do they expect me to do?"
"Break," he said honestly.
She smiled faintly. "That would be convenient for them."
Cassian studied her — the steadiness in her eyes, the way pain had sharpened her instead of folding her inward.
"You're stronger than Rafael thinks," he said.
"And he's stronger than you think," she replied.
Cassian nodded. "That doesn't stop this from damaging him."
She met his gaze. "Is that what this is really about? You're worried about him."
"Yes," Cassian said simply. "And you."
She leaned back slightly. "You didn't look this conflicted when you agreed to the separation."
"No," he said. "I didn't have to see the aftermath."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Anabeth spoke quietly. "You love him."
Cassian didn't deny it. "In the way men like us are allowed to."
She tilted her head. "And yet you still chose to hurt him."
"I chose to hurt everyone less than they would've been hurt otherwise," he said.
She nodded slowly. "That's the lie we tell ourselves."
The words struck deeper than she knew.
---
Later that night, Cassian stood alone on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear.
Rafael's voice was steady on the other end — too steady.
"Report," Rafael said.
"She's holding," Cassian replied. "Better than expected."
"And you?" Rafael asked.
Cassian hesitated.
"I'm questioning the margin," he said carefully.
Silence.
"That's not your role," Rafael replied.
"No," Cassian agreed. "But it's my reality."
Rafael exhaled slowly. "Do you regret it?"
Cassian looked out over the city, lights shimmering like distant stars.
"I regret that she'll pay for our war longer than we will," he said.
Another pause.
"Keep her safe," Rafael said finally. "No matter what."
Cassian's voice dropped. "That order conflicts with keeping her untouched."
"I know," Rafael replied.
The call ended.
Cassian stayed where he was long after the phone went dark.
---
Near midnight, Anabeth stepped onto the balcony beside him.
"You look like someone who chose the wrong side," she said gently.
Cassian shook his head. "There is no right side. Only responsibility."
She leaned on the railing, mirroring his posture.
"You ever think about walking away?" she asked.
"Yes," Cassian said without hesitation. "Every time I care."
She looked at him. "And why don't you?"
"Because walking away doesn't erase impact," he replied. "It just abandons it."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Then stay."
Cassian turned to her. "That's not permission you can give."
"No," she said. "But it's acknowledgment."
They stood there, the distance between them not threatening, not intimate — just real.
"You didn't fail me," Anabeth said quietly.
Cassian frowned. "I did."
"You failed your comfort," she corrected. "Not your duty."
The words settled slowly.
Cassian exhaled, tension easing just a fraction.
"Thank you," he said.
She gave a small nod. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still angry."
He allowed himself a faint smile. "I would expect nothing less."
---
Across the city, Rafael stood alone in his office, staring at a message he hadn't responded to.
Unknown Source:
Distance won't save her.
He deleted it without reply.
But for the first time since the separation, doubt flickered.
Cassian had done what loyalty demanded.
But guilt was no longer silent.
And in the space between orders and conscience, something dangerous was forming.
Because men like Cassian didn't break easily.
But when they did…
They chose sides.