Chapter 8 Cassian’s Past
Iwalk into the house but don’t go far.
I stay in the living room, keeping my eyes on the man’s back.
From here, I can still see the door, the hall, the stairs—every possible entry or exit.
I don’t invite him to sit. I don’t offer him water.
I let him stand there awkwardly, his hands hanging loose at his sides like he’s suddenly forgotten what to do with them.
“Sabine?” I call out. When I left earlier, I heard her alarm go off. She’s the kind of person who sets a dozen alarms just to make it to her eight a.m. shift.
I got to the bakery around six. It’s barely past seven now. She should be fully awake by now.
“Sabine,” I call again, louder. “Need you down here.”
No answer. Just the soft tick of the hallway clock and the low hum of the fridge. Mom might wake up too, but that’s fine. She’d understand if she knew what I was doing. Besides, if this guy really is Sabine’s friend, maybe she’s seen him before. She could help identify him.
The man shifts his weight, glancing at me. Like he’s just starting to realize how bad this looks. I ignore him and glance toward the stairs.
I raise my voice. “Sabine!”
Finally, a shuffle.
The man takes a half-step toward the stairs before I lift my hand.
“Stay where you are.”
A moment later, Sabine appears at the top of the stairs. Hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, eyes still heavy with sleep. She squints down at us, confused.
“What the hell?” she croaks, rubbing one eye. “Why are you—”
Then she sees him.
And freezes.
My body’s already coiled, ready to slam that motherfucker against the nearest wall and search every pocket on—
“Oh god, Eli,” she breathes after a moment. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The man—Eli—glances at me, then back at Sabine. He forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I take a single, deliberate breath to calm myself down.
If she’d taken even one second longer to react, I would’ve already jumped him.
And for a brief moment, I feel stupid. There’s a good chance I just misjudged the guy. Maybe he really was just trying to give my sister a ride to work.
But that’s all it is.
Just a moment.
Because I still don’t know anything about him, do I? All this confirms is that she knows him. That doesn’t mean his intentions are good. Predators often circle their prey, pretending to earn their trust. He could be doing just that.
Be patient, Cassian. The hunt’s not over yet.
I focus on every word he says, and how he says them.
“You asked me to drive you to work today, remember?” he says to Sabine. “I’ve been waiting down the street when your brother showed up to… ask about my plates.”
“Your plates?” she blinks, then stares at him, blank. “Oh. Shit. Work.”
Then it hits her like a brick to the chest.
Her eyes fly open. She spins toward the kitchen like her feet are already moving before her brain catches up.
The slap of her soles against the tile is sharp, frantic, echoing into the hallway as she rifles through the clutter on the fridge door.
She yanks down a faded calendar, scans it, and gasps.
“Oh my god. No, no, no. Fuck!” she groans.
She spins back around, clutching the calendar to her chest, her eyes even wider now, panic setting in. “I totally forgot! I was supposed to switch shifts with Dani today. I told her I’d cover the early shift. Shit, shit, shit.”
She’s already pulling her phone out, tapping the screen.
“Oh my god, you did call me,” she mutters. “Like three times. I didn’t hear it. I must’ve left it on silent again. God, I feel like such an asshole.”
“Hey, no worries, Sabie,” Eli says, still calm. “It’s all good.”
“Can you still take me? Like now? Right now?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I only came inside because your brother… invited me.”
That stops her for a split second. She glances at me, eyebrows pinched, confusion flickering across her face, but she doesn’t dig. There’s no time. She’s already turning back to Eli.
“I just need five minutes, okay? I have to change, brush my teeth… Just five, I swear.”
Before he can answer, she’s bolting up the stairs. “Just hang on. I’ll be right back!”
Eli gives a small nod like it’s no big deal. But the second she vanishes, his smile slips.
And now it’s just the two of us again.
He leans against the wall, trying to look casual, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. He's too posed… Too practiced. Either he’s still hiding something, or I stress the fuck out of him.
Regardless, I don’t move. I keep my arms crossed and my gaze steady.
Sabine trusts him.
But I don’t. And I’m not sorry about that.
He finally breaks the silence.
“You know,” he says, voice low, “you could’ve just asked her instead of jumping down my throat.”
“I did.”
“Yeah? Before or after you cornered me like I was plotting a heist?”
“I’ve got my reasons.” I scan him again, head to toe. “You drive Sabine to work often?”
He shrugs, but it’s tight, like the gesture doesn’t belong to him. “Sometimes. Not regularly. Just when she needs a ride.”
“You from around here?”
“Yeah. Couple blocks away.” He waves a hand vaguely, like that’s enough.
“What street?”
“Why?” His smile turns sharp. “You planning to stalk me now?”
Ironic choice of words, considering the situation.
I don’t return the smile. “Just making conversation.”
“Warren Avenue,” he says after a beat. “Corner house. Blue trim. Want the zip code too?”
“I’ll check it.”
He lets out a dry laugh and looks away, shaking his head like I’m the unhinged one. “Jesus. You’re intense.”
“And you’re evasive,” I shoot back.
“Told you. I don’t like being pushed.”
“Yeah? Who does?”
That shuts him up. His jaw tightens and he takes a breath through his nose, like he’s trying to hold something in: anger or annoyance, maybe both. I should go check in with Sabine before she leaves for her shift, but I can’t just leave this guy unsupervised in the house.
“Wait outside for my sister,” I say finally. My voice is firm, and I’m already turning slightly, motioning toward the door.
He stares at me like he can’t believe I’m serious, but then his expression shifts, like it occurs to him it’s not a good idea to argue. He heads toward the door.
“What, you gotta go babysit Sabine now? In her own house?” he mutters as he passes.
I fall into step behind him, keeping close just in case he decides to get clever.
“Something like that,” I say.
He doesn’t reply. I open the front door, and he steps out onto the porch.
The air outside feels colder than it did earlier, sharper against my skin.
The light’s brighter too, almost too bright, and the scent of Mom’s garden: damp soil, fresh rosemary, blooming jasmine, rushes in.
I take half a breath, then close the door behind him and slide the lock into place.
Then I head upstairs.
Mom’s door is still shut. No sound from her room. Good, she’s still asleep.
Sabine’s door, though, is cracked open, and a narrow strip of light spills into the hallway. I knock twice on the frame.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?” she calls from inside. Her voice is muffled. She's probably brushing her teeth.
I step closer but don’t go in. “You sure about this guy?”
She appears in the doorway a few seconds later, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, one raised to wipe her mouth with the edge. Her hair’s damp, face all flushed from the hurry.
“Eli? Yeah. He’s a friend.”
“He was parked out front for some time,” I say. “No license plates. I thought he might be the guy.”
At that, she flinches. Just a flicker, but I see it. Her hand moves to tuck her hair behind her ear, buying herself a second.
“It’s not him,” she says, quieter now. “Eli’s... awkward. But not creepy. And besides…”
Her eyes drift past me, down the hallway, like she’s listening for movement from Mom’s room. There’s none.
“He’s been around for a while. Offers me rides. Buys me coffee sometimes before work. He’s kind. Weird, but not the kind of weird that sets off alarms.”
“Kind isn’t the same thing as safe.”
That gets me a look—not angry, just tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind that says she’s had this conversation before, in her own head if not out loud.
“He’s not the guy,” she says again. She pulls her hoodie tighter and shifts her weight like she’s ready to bolt. “I don’t have time for a full interrogation. I’m late.”
I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “What do you actually know about him, Sabine?”
She sighs, frustrated. “He works at that hardware store off Glendale. I stopped in a few times when my laptop started glitching. We talked. It felt normal. He felt normal. Lonely, yeah, but not dangerous. I liked him. Still do.”
“Felt normal?”
“Still feels normal.” She meets my gaze, eyes sharper now. “Until you started asking all these questions.”
“That’s the point,” I say. “You should be asking them. Especially now.”
She turns away and starts back into her room, voice trailing behind her. “He’s not like the guy who sent those messages. He’s different.”
“You’ve never even seen the guy,” I call after her. “How do you know what type he is?”
She stops mid-step, back to me. Her hand stills where it’s reaching for something on her desk. Silence stretches between us. Then, quietly: “I just do.”
I push a hand down my face and move to lean in her doorway. “Look. I’m not here to control your life. I’m not even supposed to be here. But people like him, the ones who send texts like that or leave things on porches, they blend in. They know how to pass for normal.”
I should know. I’m an even worse kind of a monster.
She stands there for a moment, unmoving. Then she ties her hair back in one quick motion, grabs her bag, and slings it over her shoulder.
“I am scared,” she says, still not facing me. “Of the real guy. Every day. That’s why I’m careful. That’s why I don’t want you scaring off the few people I can trust.”
“I didn’t scare anyone,” I say.
Finally, she looks back at me over her shoulder. “Yeah. Sure you didn’t.”
Then she walks past me, brushing by without another word.