Chapter 15 Cassian
CASSIAN
The wind’s settled again, not calm, just quiet in that calculating way that always feels worse than a storm.
The kind of silence where even the dogs refuse to make noise, their ears flat, their eyes pinned to the tree line like they know the world’s about to crack open again.
I can feel it too, crawling low along the edges of my skin, something deep and mean and familiar, dragging up old ghosts I thought I’d buried under enough snow to last a lifetime.
We’re breaking camp slow, no rush anymore.
Not since the ambush yesterday. Not since she saw me shift halfway to the edge.
Angie moves with purpose, bundling gear like it gives her something to hold on to.
Her cheeks are red with cold, her lashes frosted over, and she still looks back at me like I’m worth trusting.
Like I didn’t almost lose myself right in front of her.
Like I didn’t almost prove every goddamn nightmare true.
I don’t speak. Not yet.
She doesn't press.
And that’s when I hear it.
That brittle electronic whine, the faint clicking static that doesn’t belong out here in the wild.
I scan fast, senses spiking, and catch the glint of dull gray in the snow, tucked under a broken sled runner left behind in the fight.
One of the mercs must’ve dropped it in the scramble, half-buried now beneath a drift that doesn’t know it's carrying poison.
It’s a sat-phone.
Old model. Military grade. Tinted screen flashing green.
I grab it, thumb pressing to the edge of the casing, and lift it to my ear, already knowing I should crush it without a second thought.
The line crackles, then comes the voice.
“Cassian.”
That name hits harder than a bullet. I haven’t heard it spoken like that in years. That tone. That drawl. Oil-slick and sharp like a needle dipped in honey. My stomach twists. My fingers curl tight around the edge of the device.
“Still breathing, I see,” the voice continues, smooth and slow, like he’s savoring it. “Good. I told them you wouldn’t die easy. Wouldn’t be any fun if you did.”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, mock-sympathy dripping from every syllable. “You’re wondering how I found you. Took me a while. You’ve always been slippery. But turns out, even ghosts leave footprints when they get sentimental.”
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just listen.
“I saw the footage,” Roman says, and that’s it. That’s the blade in the ribs. “Didn’t believe it at first. That shift. That flash in your eyes. But it’s you. No doubt. And she caught it, didn’t she? Your little documentary darling.”
He laughs.
“She’s talented, I’ll give her that. Brave, too. Walking side by side with you like she knows what you are and doesn’t care. Almost romantic. Almost sweet. But sweet things rot, Cassian. And I’ll be the one to peel the skin off that lie.”
I close my eyes, the fury crawling through me so thick I can barely keep still.
“I’m coming for you,” he says. “You’ll be alive when we take you.
Don’t worry. We’ve got plans. Long-term ones.
Doctors waiting. Curious men with thick glasses and no souls.
They want to see how the bear works. Want to know if the monster’s as deep as it looks.
You’ll answer their questions. Piece by piece. ”
My breath turns into a snarl in my throat, not loud, but raw and shaking at the edges.
“You were mine once,” Roman whispers, voice dropping low like a secret. “And you’ll be mine again.”
That’s the last thing he says before I crush the phone in my hand, the plastic and metal cracking under the weight of fury I’ve held too long. I grind it into the snow under my boot until nothing’s left but shards and sparks and silence.
But my hands keep shaking. Not from fear, from rage. Pure, cold, bone-deep rage.
Roman.
The name burns worse than silver. That bastard’s voice still clings to my skin, cloying and thick like oil that won't wash off. My old Alpha. My old friend. The one who turned my name into a curse and called it loyalty.
And now he’s seen her footage.
That’s how he found us.
Angie’s standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around her middle, eyes locked on me like she knew from the moment I picked up the call that whatever I heard would gut something open.
I look at her, and the only word that comes isn’t her name.
It’s mine.
It hits so fast and hard I don’t know where it starts. She stands between me and the snow, as if to shield me from harm. She never flinches, whether I'm loud or silent. Perhaps it's simply that she remains, still looking at me as if I am worthy of her presence.
Mine.
Not in the way a man owns a thing. Not like possession.
It’s deeper. Blood-deep. Bone-etched. The kind of word that feels like it’s always been true even before I said it.
Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “That was him, wasn’t it?”
I nod once, not trusting myself to say it out loud yet.
“What did he say?”
My hands curl tighter, fists trembling even though the phone’s already ruined.
“That I’ll be taken alive,” I say, voice rough as gravel. “Used. Broken. Studied. And that he’s coming.”
She swallows. But she doesn’t look away.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “About the footage. I didn’t mean for—”
“I know,” I say. And I do. That’s the hell of it. I know she didn’t plan this. I know she wouldn’t trade me for any story, any payout, any chance to get out of this frozen wasteland.
And still, he found us because I let her get close.
That’s on me.
She takes a step forward. Then another. Until she’s right in front of me, small and fierce and shivering against the wind, but still looking up at me like I’m something worth facing.
“What do we do?” she asks.
My throat tightens.
“We move,” I say. “We burn this camp, take only what we need. Go dark. Go deep. There’s a place north of the pass. Old den. Long abandoned. No maps mark it anymore. He won’t find us there.”
“And if he does?”
I don’t hesitate. “Then he doesn’t leave.”
Her lips part slightly like she wants to say something else, maybe something softer. But instead she just nods, like she’s preparing herself to become part of this fight too.
I turn back to the sled, start stripping out the gear we don’t need. My hands are steadier now. Focus sharp. The rage is still there, coiled tight and waiting, but it’s useful now. Anchored.
Roman may think he still knows me. That I’m the same boy who once followed him into blood and fire without question.
But he’s sadly mistaken. And I’ll make sure he pays dearly for it.