I simply observe her.
Cassie is not the girl I remember. The bones are there, the same sharp jaw, the same dark eyes that have always moved a little too fast and seen a little too much. But the girl who used to lean against chain-link fences with a lollipop jammed in her mouth and eyeliner smeared like war paint is gone. The woman standing in front of me still wears black jeans and boots, and a cropped jacket over a faded Broken Oasis band shirt—the kind that’s been washed so many times the print is cracking at the edges.
Some obsessions apparently survive into adulthood.
Her hair is shorter now. The eyeliner is still there, sharper, intentional rather than defiant. She isn’t a foster kid hiding behind sarcasm anymore. She’s a woman.
That thought lands, dragging another with it, cruel and uninvited. If Cassie has changed this much, how has Skylar changed? Is she even more beautiful than before? Does she still wear fury like armor? Does she still tilt her chin half a second before she lies?
Cassie’s eyes drag over me with a kind of shameless, methodical assessment. My shoulders. My arms. My chest. She takes her time and makes no apology for it.
“Well, shit,” she says at last. “They fed you protein and rage in there, huh?”
Something loosens in my chest. I lean back against the fender and study her for a moment. “You look different.”
“Yeah.” She tilts her head, her mouth tugging at the corners. “It’s called not being seventeen and furious at vending machines anymore.”
A rough laugh slips out of me. It feels strange, as if my chest has forgotten how to do it.
Cassie hears it and her face shifts for half a second, something soft flickering beneath all the eyeliner and the bite.
I glance toward the office door. Rainer stands there, arms loose at his sides, watching us.
“Cassie, you want a soda?” he says.
My gaze lingers on him for half a second longer than I need to. He holds my gaze just long enough to make his point.
“Yeah,” Cassie says, already stepping forward.
Then Rainer turns and moves toward the far side of the workshop, unhurried, already spotting something that needs his attention over there.
Subtle as a brick.
I toss the rag onto the workbench and head into the office. The small bar fridge under Rainer’s desk hums. I pull it open, grab two cans from the bottom shelf, and straighten up.
I hold one out to her.
“I’m so sorry, Zane,” she says, causing me to freeze.
Cassie presses her lips together, but it doesn’t stop the tears. They gather quickly, shining in her eyes like furious little things she clearly hates for showing up without permission. She stares at the can in my hand.
“Fuck,” she mutters, wiping at one tear before it falls. “I wasn’t planning on doing this. I had a whole speech. It had sarcasm and structure. Very moving. Probably award-worthy.” She pauses and just looks at me. “If I hadn’t called you, Zane.” Her voice breaks around the words, and she stops. Breathes. Tries again. “If I hadn’t called you, you wouldn’t have gone to prison.”
“Cass—”
“I called you because I was scared,” she says. “I didn’t know what else to do. When I saw them coming at Sky, I panicked and called the one person I knew would come for her without asking any questions first.”
“I did come.”
“And you lost seven years for it.”
“But if you hadn’t called me, who knows what those bastards would have done to her?”
She looks at me for a long moment, before taking the can from my hand and moving to sit on the old chair near the office door.
I drag the chair from the far corner into the middle of the office and drop into it.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
