“Easy,” the stranger said, steadying the glass. “You’ve been out for about an hour. Your fever’s still pretty high.”
An hour. Cass tried to process that. An hour of being unconscious, of being vulnerable, of other people having to take care of him while he lay there soaking through his clothes. Another cramp rolled through him, vicious and deep, and he bit his lip hard to keep from crying out. He curled forward, pressing a hand against his abdomen, trying to breathe through discomfort the way Brother Matthias had taught him during meditation.
“Keep breathing through it,” the stranger said, and there was something knowing in his voice. Something that suggested he understood exactly what Cass was feeling. “It’ll pass. Just breathe.”
When Cass uncurled enough to look around, he realized he was in a small bedroom. Simple wooden walls, a worn quilt beneath him, curtains drawn against what looked like darkness outside. The wetness beneath him had soaked into the bedding. He could feel it, cooling and shameful against his skin. Whoever owned this bed was going to have to wash everything, and the thought made his face burn with embarrassment on top of the fever.
I’m ruining their things. I’m ruining everything.
And that’s when he noticed the bracelet.
It was on the beautiful stranger’s wrist, half-hidden by his sleeve—a familiar pattern of clay beads strung on hemp cord. The same design Cass had been carrying in his recruitment supplies for months. The same sacred clay that Brother Matthias had blessed for spiritual focusing.
Something clicked in his heat-scattered memory.
“Oh!” Cass tried to sit up, a spark of recognition cutting through the misery. “I remember you! You were in the marketplace, months ago.”
Hands pressed down on his shoulders from behind—smaller than Riot’s, the touch steady but firm. “You should stay seated.”
But Cass was already twisting, trying to see who was behind him while keeping the familiar stranger in view. “He was in the Neutral Zone and he looked so tired and beat up and—”
He stopped, studying the stranger’s face more carefully now. There were still bruises—fresh ones, actually, mottled purple and yellow across his collarbone where his shirt had slipped. Small abrasions around his wrists, like healing rope burns. But his expression was completely different from the haunted, hollow look Cass remembered from that brief encounter.
He looked happy. Settled. Like someone who had finally stopped running.
“Now you look well-rested and beat up,” Cass said. “That’s an improvement, right?”
The stranger’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. “I... thank you? I think?” He ducked his head—a surprising gesture for someone so striking. “I’m Orion. And that’s Dante behind you.”
Cass turned carefully to see the person who’d been holding his shoulders.
He was tall, with dark hair, sharp gray eyes, and posture that reminded Cass of the Gensyn operatives he’d occasionally seen in the Neutral Zone, controlled and dangerous, like a blade wrapped in silk. But his expression was guarded in a way that felt personal rather than corporate, his eyes flicking towards the closed door of the room.
“Nice to meet you both,” Cass said, trying to remember his manners. “I’m—well, I guess you probably already know who I am. Did Riot tell you about...?”
Another cramp hit, sharper than the last, and he had to stop talking to breathe through it. He pressed his legs together tighter, as if that could somehow stop it, and focused on breathing until the cramp released.
“It’s okay to not be okay,” Orion said quietly. He’d moved closer, crouching down so he was at Cass’s eye level. “Heat hurts. You don’t have to pretend.”
The kindness in his voice made Cass blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, and he managed a nod.
“Where’s Riot?” he asked, looking around the room as if expecting the Berserker to materialize from the shadows. “Is he okay? Did something happen?”
Orion and Dante exchanged a look. It was quick—just a flicker of eye contact—but Cass caught it. Concern. Wariness.
“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” Dante said. His voice was careful, measured. “The important thing is getting you through your heat safely.”
“Riot’s a good guy,” Orion added, and there was something complicated in his tone. “We know about the suppressant situation. But you’re safe here, okay? You don’t have to be afraid.”
Afraid?
These kind, well-meaning strangers were talking about Riot like he was a threat to be managed. A danger to be contained. They thought Cass was worried about being hurt.
Why?
“No,” Cass said, pushing himself up despite the way his head spun. “No, you don’t—I need to see him. I need—”
His legs wobbled dangerously. The room tilted. For a horrible moment Cass thought he was going to collapse again, but then Orion was there, catching him under his arms with surprising strength for someone smaller than him.
