Chapter 16 Cassian’s Past
Iwait outside Sabine’s workplace, barely holding myself together. The only thing keeping me remotely sane is the ping of her phone. But even that doesn’t fully reassure me she’s actually safe.
That’s why I’ve already texted her a dozen times, asking for proof. Anything to confirm she’s okay. Thankfully, she wasn’t too pissed about this morning to ignore me. She sent a photo from the supply closet and even rolled her eyes in the corner of the frame like I’m being ridiculous.
So there’s that.
It should calm me down.
But of course, it doesn’t. Not really.
My mind keeps racing with every possible trick that sick bastard might pull.
All the ways he could have planned for a moment like this just to mess with me.
If he managed to find my phone and send a message from it, something that should have been impossible, then who’s to say he couldn’t fake a photo from Sabine and send that too?
That thought has me standing outside her workplace like I’m the one acting suspicious, frozen in place and unable to leave.
I need to see her with my own eyes and make sure she’s okay. And when I do, I’m telling her I saw him.
Her peace matters to me. God, I don’t want her paranoid like I am. But she needs to know. She needs to be afraid of him again.
Fear matters. Fear keeps us sharp. Fear keeps us alive.
I shift from one foot to the other, eyes locked on the tinted entrance.
My palms are damp. My nails have left little crescent marks in my skin from how tightly I’ve been clenching my fists.
I can’t stop scanning the parking lot, the building’s corners, every shiny surface that might reflect his image back at me.
Five more hours pass before Sabine finally gets off work.
The doors slide open with a mechanical hush, and she steps out, squinting against the sun. Her braid’s come loose. Her shirt’s wrinkled. She looks exactly like the photo she sent me earlier.
Exactly.
And still, my body doesn’t settle.
I step forward before I can second-guess it. Calm. Controlled. I stop just short of her path and let her walk straight into my shadow.
She startles, just slightly, and looks up.
“Jesus, Cassian,” she mutters, clutching her chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
I’m scanning her face, her arms, her posture. Is she limping? Is she tense? Are her pupils blown, like she’s scared and trying to hide it?
She frowns and pushes hair out of her face. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t know. He didn’t make a move on her.
“I saw him,” I say without delay.
Sabine stills.
Then, “What?”
“This morning. Here. Outside your work. Long coat. Hat. Standing like he belonged, but he didn’t move for ten minutes.” I take a breath. “Then he vanished. I crossed the street, and he was just… gone.”
Her face drains of color.
“Are you… are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She blinks at me. Once. Twice. And I can already see her retreating, pulling back from the part of herself that believed it was over.
“I—Cass, that could’ve been anyone,” she says, her voice thin.
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t.”
She shifts her weight, glancing back at the building like someone might walk out and save her from this conversation. No one does.
“How do you know?” she asks, softer now. “Maybe it was just some random guy standing there. Maybe he got spooked when he saw you.”
“No, Sabine,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her with me. I don’t want to be rough, but she flinches anyway. “It was him. I mean it.”
“Well… wait,” she stammers, stumbling as I pull her. “Cass, can you just stop for a second—”
“We can’t stop,” I say, too sharply. Her eyes flash with alarm. I lower my voice. “We need to go home. Now. You’re going to stay there, lock the doors and windows, and I’ll go meet Grayson as soon as I can.”
“What? Why?” she says. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to hunt him down.”
Sabine stares at me.
“How?” she asks. “Do you have a plan?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
We reach the crosswalk, and I turn instead of heading straight like she expects.
“Where are we going?” she says.
“I didn’t bring a car,” I tell her. “Didn’t want to be tracked. But we’re not walking.”
“So what, you’re going to carry me on your back?”
I don’t smile.
“There’s a supply garage behind the lot,” I tell her, already pulling her toward the alley. “Locked fence, but I’ve been watching it. The guy always leaves his moped parked outside during his shift. Still keeps the key tucked above the back tire.”
Sabine pulls back. “Cass, you’re not seriously stealing someone’s—”
“Borrowing,” I cut in. “I’ll return it. Full tank and fifty bucks on the dash.”
By the time we hit the alley, I’m already grabbing the key from where I saw him stash it two days ago. The ignition clicks on with a stutter.
“Get on.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I’m getting you home.”
She glances around to make sure no one’s watching, then climbs on behind me.
This isn’t how I like to operate; rash decisions made on impulse. But I’m running out of options, and I know it. Turns out, even in all my obsession with catching that guy, I missed something. Now I’ve got no choice but to improvise and hope I’m not overlooking something worse.
The moped sputters to life. It’s louder than I’d like and clumsy to handle. Not great for staying under the radar, but it’s fast, and right now, that’s all that matters.
Sabine wraps her arms around my waist. She mutters something I can’t catch, but I’m already pulling out of the alley, ducking low as we slip onto the side road that runs behind the main strip. The buildings blur past. Her grip tightens every time I swerve or hit a bump.
I take every shortcut I know, back alleys, side streets, even the old maintenance road behind the dog park that hasn’t seen a car in years.
It takes thirty minutes to reach our street.
I slow down, scanning the houses one by one before turning into the driveway.
“Inside,” I say the moment we stop. “Now.”
Sabine doesn’t argue. She hops off, hair flying around her face, and bolts up the porch steps. I wait until I hear the lock click behind her before I turn back toward the street.
I have to assume he knows where I am and what I’m doing.
Shit.
I ditch the moped two blocks away behind the old tool rental shed, then sprint back and head inside.
Sabine’s pacing the living room.
“Come with me,” I say, heading upstairs.
I lead her into my room, past the closet, to a panel no one else knows about.
“Cassian,” she says, her voice low. “What are you doing?”
I open the crawlspace anyway. Pull out the metal box. Set it on the bed like a coffin.
“Before I leave, I’ll check all the locks. But I need you to be ready. Just in case.”
“Ready for what?”
She crosses her arms. She’s nervous now. But she stays.
“Grayson’s sending some of his people to watch the house. They’ll be here soon. Either way, don’t open the door. Don’t leave your room. Here, take this.”
I hand her my gun. She stares at it like it might bite.
“Cassian… I’ve never even held one.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Hopefully you won’t need to use it. But if it comes to that, just scaring him might be enough.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then you stay alive. That’s what matters.”
She swallows hard. I know this isn’t ideal. I don’t want to leave her alone, not here, not anywhere. But if there’s one place where she has a shot at defending herself, it’s this house. And I need to move while the trail’s still warm.
Him being out in the open, on a busy street with cameras around, that’s the first real chance I’ve had to go on the offensive instead of just reacting.
“I need to go, Sabie,” I say. “Plug in your phone, keep the gun close, and reply when I message you. Got it?”
“Got it,” she says, barely above a whisper.
She takes the gun with shaking fingers, holding it like it might go off if she breathes too hard. Then she looks up at me, eyes glassy, jaw clenched.
“Just… promise you’ll come back safe, okay?”
Something tightens in my chest. Grief or pride or both. I press a hand to her shoulder and give it a quick squeeze.
“Love you, sis,” I say. I want to promise I’ll be careful. That I’ll come back. But none of it feels true enough to say.
So I turn and walk. Down the hall, down the stairs, out the door. I check the locks one last time, just to be sure. Then I find the moped I stashed, grip the throttle, and ride into the city.
Grayson’s already waiting when I pull up.
He’s leaning against his car, a nondescript navy sedan tucked into the far corner of the firehouse lot, half-hidden behind a dumpster and a rusted maintenance trailer.
The lot is quiet except for the wind skimming over gravel and the occasional distant siren.
It smells like engine oil and sunbaked asphalt.
He doesn’t wave or smile. Just lifts his chin like we’re already mid-conversation.
His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, forearms resting on the car’s hood. A laptop glows in front of him, its light pale in the growing dusk, casting sharp lines across his face. The blue glare flickers over his jaw like a warning. Like time’s slipping through our hands.
“You weren’t kidding,” he mutters, nodding at the battered moped behind me. “Nice ride.”
“Fast enough,” I say, voice rough. I kill the engine and kick down the stand. “She’s locked in. Gun. Phone. Panic plan.”
Grayson nods. Not approval. Just understanding.
“Good,” he says. “We’ve got movement.”
The words knock the breath from my lungs.
I’m already striding toward him before he finishes, gravel crunching under my boots. He angles the screen toward me, fingers ready on the keyboard.
“I’ve been pulling every feed within three blocks of Sabine’s work since you messaged. Got a few clips scrubbed already.”
Grayson taps the spacebar.
A grainy, black-and-white feed stutters to life, street cam, corner of Darrow and Third. A timestamp flickers in the corner. 10:42.
“That you?” he asks.