The word I know lands wrong.
Too smooth. Too easy.
Seina doesn’t think—she moves.
One second there’s space between them, the next her hand is in his shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric as she slams him back into the wall just inside the doorway. The sound is sharp in the hollow quiet of the house, wood and plaster taking the impact with a dull crack that echoes down the hall.
Caspian doesn’t resist.
That’s the first thing that registers.
The second is that he doesn’t look surprised.
Her forearm presses across his chest, pinning him there, her other hand braced against the wall near his shoulder. She’s close enough to see the exact shift in his eyes—the way interest sharpens, not fear. The way his focus narrows on her like she’s just proven something he’s been waiting to confirm.
“Don’t do that,” she snaps, her voice low and tight. “Don’t act like you know anything about why I’m here.”
The air between them hums.
Not with sound.
With tension.
With something that feels dangerously close to a line being crossed and not stepped back from.
Caspian’s gaze drops briefly to where her hand grips his shirt, then lifts again to her face. There’s a flicker of something almost approving there, quick enough that she could pretend she imagined it if she wanted to.
She doesn’t.
“I didn’t say why,” he replies calmly. “I said I know.”
That almost makes her hit him.
Instead, her grip tightens.
The fabric bunches harder under her fingers, and she feels it then—the strength in her own body, the ease of it. The way it doesn’t strain, doesn’t hesitate. Two months ago, this would’ve been a struggle, a mess of adrenaline and fear and instinct she didn’t understand.
Now—
it’s controlled.
Directed.
His feet are still on the ground, but the weight of him is fully hers to manage, pinned exactly where she wants him. She could push harder. Could break something if she chose to. The knowledge sits quietly in the back of her mind, not tempting, not frightening.
Just there.
Caspian notices that too.
His head tilts slightly, studying her with a kind of careful curiosity that doesn’t match the situation at all. If anything, it looks like he’s more interested now than he was when she first walked in.
“You’re stronger than you should be,” he says, almost thoughtfully.
Seina’s jaw tightens.
“I’m not here for your observations.”
“No,” he agrees easily. “You’re here for your sister.”
The word hits like a spark against something already burning.
Her arm presses harder into his chest without her thinking about it, pushing him more firmly into the wall.
“Then stop talking around it,” she says. “Where is she?”
Caspian’s expression doesn’t shift.
Not into fear.
Not into resistance.
If anything, he relaxes further into the hold, like being pinned is a position he’s decided to allow rather than something forced on him.
“That depends,” he says.
Seina leans in closer.
Too close.
Her voice drops, quiet enough that it should sound like a warning instead of a demand.
“On what.”
“On how much you actually want to hear.”
The answer is wrong.
Infuriatingly wrong.
She bares her teeth slightly without meaning to, not fully, not a threat she doesn’t control, but enough that the shift is visible. A flash of something not entirely human that lingers just beneath the surface.
“Try me.”
For a second—
just a second—
something in Caspian’s eyes flickers.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Recognition.
Like he’s seeing the line between what she was and what she is now, and deciding it’s more interesting than he expected.
His gaze drifts, briefly, to her mouth.
To the faint trace of something that might still linger there if he were looking closely enough.
Then back to her eyes.
“You’ve been busy,” he murmurs.
Seina doesn’t react to it.
Doesn’t give him anything to work with.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not,” he says, and this time there’s something sharper under the calm. “I’m deciding how honest to be.”
Her grip tightens again.
“Start with where she is.”
Silence stretches between them.
Not long.
But long enough to feel deliberate.
Then—
“She’s alive.”
The words hit harder than anything else has.
Seina freezes.
Not visibly.
But internally—everything stills.
Alive.
The confirmation lands deep, cutting through weeks of uncertainty and half-truths and carefully avoided conclusions. For a second, everything else falls away—the house, the tension, the man pinned against the wall.
Alive.
Her fingers flex against his shirt.
She doesn’t let go.
“Where,” she repeats, quieter now.
Caspian watches her closely.
He sees the shift.
The way the anger doesn’t disappear but changes shape, sharpening into something more focused, more dangerous.
“She’s been with us,” he says.
Us.
Seina’s eyes harden.
“Since when.”
“Long enough.”
That answer isn’t good enough.
She knows it isn’t.
He knows it isn’t.
And still, he gives it.
Her arm presses harder into him again, enough that a human would’ve struggled for breath.
Caspian doesn’t.
“You’re going to give me a real answer,” she says, her voice steady in a way that takes more effort than she’ll admit.
“Or what,” he asks, not mocking—genuinely curious.
That almost throws her.
Not because she doesn’t have an answer.
Because he wants to hear it.
Because he’s testing something that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with what she’s capable of.
Seina holds his gaze.
Doesn’t look away.
“Or I stop asking nicely.”
The words hang between them.
Sharp.
Clear.
Final.
Caspian studies her for a long second.
Then—
very slowly—
he smiles.
Not wide.
Not amused.
Something quieter.
More dangerous.
“There it is,” he says softly.
Seina doesn’t understand what he means.
And she doesn’t care.
Not yet.
Because she has something now.
Something real.
Her sister is alive.
And he’s going to tell her everything else—
whether he wants to or not.
Seina doesn’t let go.
If anything, her grip tightens, the fabric of Caspian’s shirt pulling taut beneath her fingers as she holds him there, pinned exactly where she wants him. The confirmation is still echoing in her head—alive—and it sharpens everything else into something far less patient.
“Then start talking,” she says.
Her voice isn’t raised.
It doesn’t need to be.
Caspian watches her for a second longer, measuring something behind her eyes, something that has clearly shifted since the last time he saw her. Whatever he finds there seems to settle something for him.
He exhales slowly.
Not strained.
Not pressured.
Just… considering.
“She adapted,” he says at last.
Seina’s brow furrows.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the part you’re going to care about,” he replies evenly.
The answer irritates her instantly.
“She didn’t have a choice.”
That comes out sharper than she intends.
Faster.
Caspian’s expression flickers—just slightly—at that.
“Are you sure about that?”
Seina stills.
“What.”
He tilts his head, watching her more closely now, like he’s deciding exactly how far to push this.
“Your sister isn’t weak,” he says. “She wasn’t dragged into anything she couldn’t survive.”
“That’s not—” Seina cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “Stop talking like you know her.”
“I do know her,” he says, almost casually. “Better than you think.”
Her arm presses into him again without her meaning to, anger flaring quick and hot under her control.
“You don’t get to say that.”
Caspian doesn’t push back.
Doesn’t try to move her.
But something in his expression shifts again—less amused now, more deliberate.
“I get to say it because I’ve been there,” he replies. “While you’ve been… wherever you’ve been.”
Seina’s grip tightens enough that the wall behind him creaks faintly under the pressure.
“Careful,” she says, her voice low. “You’re getting close to saying the wrong thing.”
Caspian’s gaze sharpens.
“And you’re getting close to not hearing anything useful at all.”
The tension spikes.
For a second, it feels like the moment could snap in either direction—violence or silence.
Seina breathes once.
Slow.
Controlled.
Then forces her grip to loosen just slightly.
Not enough to release him.
Enough to show she’s choosing not to escalate.
“Then give me something useful,” she says. “Where is she. What’s happening.”
Caspian watches that shift closely.
The control.
The restraint.
He notices everything.
“That depends,” he says again, quieter this time. “On whether you’re ready to hear it without rewriting it into something easier.”
Seina’s patience is wearing thin.
“I’m not here for easy.”
“No,” he murmurs. “You’re not.”
Another pause.
Then—
“Your sister isn’t being held.”
The words land wrong.
Flat.
Too simple.
Seina’s eyes narrow immediately.
“That’s a lie.”
“It isn’t.”
“She wouldn’t stay,” Seina says, the certainty in her voice immediate. “Not with you. Not like that.”
Caspian’s expression doesn’t shift.
“If she didn’t want to be there,” he says calmly, “she wouldn’t be.”
That shouldn’t shake her.
It does.
Because he says it like it’s obvious.
Like it’s not even worth arguing.
Seina shakes her head once, sharp.
“No. That’s not how this works.”
“You’re thinking like a human,” he replies. “She stopped doing that.”
The words cut.
Seina goes still again.
That’s not fair.
That’s not—
Her thoughts stall for a second, tripping over something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.
Caspian sees it.
“She adjusted faster than you,” he continues, voice softer now, almost conversational. “Some people do. They don’t cling to what they were. They recognize what they are and move forward.”
Seina’s jaw tightens.
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“It does,” he says, “if you’re paying attention.”
The implication is clear.
You weren’t there.
You don’t know.
That anger flares again, sharper this time, but there’s something else tangled into it now—something colder, something that doesn’t sit as cleanly as anger does.
Doubt.
She hates that.
“Stop twisting it,” she snaps.
“I’m not twisting anything,” he says. “I’m telling you what you don’t want to hear.”
“Then try telling the truth instead.”
Caspian studies her for a long second.
Then—
“She’s not alone.”
That’s new.
Seina stills.
“What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he lets the silence stretch just long enough to feel intentional.
Then—
“There’s a connection,” he says. “Between her and Cassius.”
The name lands like a weight.
Seina’s stomach drops slightly.
“…what kind of connection.”
Caspian’s gaze sharpens, watching her reaction carefully now.
“Not the kind you can ignore.”
That doesn’t answer the question.
And he knows it.
Seina’s grip tightens again.
“Say it clearly.”
Another pause.
Then—
“It worked,” he says quietly.
Seina’s breath catches—
just slightly.
“What worked.”
“The bond.”
The word feels wrong the second it lands.
Seina stares at him.
“No.”
It comes out immediately.
Too fast.
Too certain.
Caspian doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t correct.
He just watches her.
“She chose it,” he says.
That—
That hits harder than anything else he’s said.
Seina’s hand loosens on his shirt without her meaning to, the shift small but real.
“No,” she repeats, but this time it isn’t as solid. “She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t choose that over—”
Over what?
Her family?
Her life?
Her?
The thought fractures before it can fully form.
Caspian sees it happen.
And presses.
“People choose what keeps them alive,” he says. “And sometimes they choose what makes them stronger.”
He doesn’t mention why.
Doesn’t mention necessity.
Doesn’t mention survival.
Only choice.
That’s the part that twists.
Seina steps back.
Just one step.
The distance between them opens slightly, the tension shifting into something less physical and far more dangerous.
Her mind is racing now, trying to line his words up with what she knows of Faylan—with the girl who would run toward danger if it meant finding answers, who would make reckless choices but never—
never this.
Unless—
No.
Seina shuts that down immediately.
Caspian watches the shift in her face.
The doubt.
The anger.
The hurt she hasn’t named yet.
He doesn’t smile this time.
But there’s something satisfied in the quiet way he stands now, no longer pinned, no longer held.
He got what he wanted.
A reaction.
A fracture.
And Seina—
for the first time since she walked into the house—
isn’t entirely sure what part of what he said was the lie.
The silence stretches.
Not empty.
Heavy.
It settles into the space between them like something alive, shifting the air in a way that makes everything feel tighter, smaller, harder to breathe through even though she doesn’t need to breathe at all.
Seina doesn’t move.
She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of pacing, of reacting outwardly to what he just dropped into her world like it wouldn’t shatter something if she let it settle too deep. But inside—
inside, it’s not quiet.
Her thoughts are moving too fast, catching on the edges of everything he said, trying to line it up with what she knows of Faylan and failing in ways that don’t feel clean.
She chose it.
No.
That doesn’t fit.
Except—
Faylan had always been like that. Stubborn. Reckless. Willing to make impossible decisions if she thought they led somewhere worth going. She wouldn’t choose them.
Would she choose survival?
Would she choose power?
Would she choose something that kept her from dying even if it meant—
Seina cuts the thought off hard.
Her jaw tightens.
She refuses to let that take shape.
Caspian watches it happen.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t rush the moment.
He lets it build.
Then—
very deliberately—
he steps away from the wall.
Not retreating.
Not cautious.
Just… moving.
The shift pulls Seina’s attention back immediately, her focus snapping toward him as he crosses the room with slow, unhurried steps, like he has all the time in the world and no reason to believe she’ll stop him.
He doesn’t look at her as he moves.
That’s intentional too.
He lets the tension follow him instead.
“Whether you believe it or not,” he says, his voice quieter now, less pointed but no less controlled, “it doesn’t change what happens next.”
Seina’s eyes narrow slightly.
“And what’s that.”
Caspian reaches the far side of the room, near what used to be a window before the glass gave way to time and neglect. Moonlight filters through the broken panes, casting uneven shadows across the floor, catching along the edges of his coat as he turns back toward her.
Now he looks at her.
Fully.
“You come where we are,” he says.
It’s not phrased like a command.
But it lands like one anyway.
Seina lets out a short, humorless breath.
“That’s not happening.”
Caspian doesn’t react to the refusal.
Of course he doesn’t.
He expected it.
“That’s the only place you’re going to get answers,” he continues. “Real ones. Not the scraps you’ve been collecting from people who barely understand what they’re involved in.”
Seina crosses her arms, more to ground herself than to block him out, her posture shifting into something more defensive without losing its edge.
“I’m already getting answers.”
“Fragments,” he corrects.
“They’ve been enough.”
“Have they.”
Seina doesn’t respond.
Because she knows the truth.
They haven’t been enough.
Not until now.
Not until she found this place.
Not until she found him.
Caspian watches that realization settle.
“There’s a gathering,” he says.
Seina stills.
“A what.”
“A ball,” he clarifies, almost lazily. “Though calling it that undersells it a bit. All Houses will be represented. Alliances, tensions, posturing—everything that matters happens in one room, behind closed doors.”
Her mind catches immediately.
Sanguis.
Nocturne.
Movement.
This is it.
This is what everything has been leading toward.
Her voice comes out steadier than she feels.
“And Faylan will be there.”
Caspian doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The certainty in that answer hits deeper than anything else he’s said.
No hesitation.
No evasion.
Just—
Yes.
Seina’s fingers tighten slightly against her arms.
“When.”
“Soon,” he says. “Soon enough that you don’t have time to pretend you’re not going.”
Her gaze hardens.
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You didn’t have to.”
There’s that quiet confidence again.
Infuriating.
Accurate.
Caspian steps closer this time, not enough to crowd her, but enough to shift the space between them again, to remind her that this conversation isn’t happening on neutral ground.
“If you want to see her,” he says, his voice lowering just slightly, “if you want to understand what she’s become—what you’re becoming—then you’ll be there.”
The words land heavy.
Because they’re not just about Faylan.
They’re about her.
Seina feels that.
Hates that.
Her jaw tightens.
“And you’re just inviting me,” she says. “Just like that.”
Caspian’s mouth curves faintly.
“Inviting isn’t the right word.”
Of course it isn’t.
“Then what is.”
He holds her gaze.
Then—
“Extending an opportunity.”
Seina almost laughs.
Almost.
“Right.”
The sarcasm doesn’t touch him.
It never does.
“Bring your guard,” he adds lightly.
Seina’s eyes narrow immediately.
“I don’t have a guard.”
Caspian’s expression doesn’t change.
Doesn’t even flicker.
“You do,” he says. “He’s just better at hiding than you are.”
The room goes still.
Completely.
Seina doesn’t turn.
Doesn’t look.
But she feels it.
That thread—
that pull—
sharpens all at once, snapping into focus in a way that makes her chest tighten instinctively. It’s been there this entire time, faint, distant, easy to ignore while she focused on Caspian.
Now—
it isn’t distant anymore.
Her gaze shifts.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Toward the far corner of the room.
Where the shadows gather thicker, where the broken light doesn’t quite reach.
And there—
Watching.
The black cat sits perfectly still.
Unblinking.
Its pale eyes catch the faint light just enough to give it away, fixed on her with a focus that is far too aware to belong to anything ordinary.
Seina goes very still.
Of course.
Of course he’s here.
Of course he followed her.
Of course he watched all of it—
the alley, the feeding, the questions, the way she’s been moving through the world like she doesn’t need permission anymore.
The realization settles hard in her chest.
Not surprise.
Not entirely.
Something sharper.
Something closer to betrayal—
and something else she doesn’t want to name.
Her jaw tightens.
Slowly, she looks back at Caspian.
He’s watching her reaction carefully.
Waiting for it.
Measuring it.
“Next time,” he says, almost casually, “you might want to make sure you’re actually alone before you start asking dangerous questions.”
Seina doesn’t answer right away.
Her attention is split now, pulled in two directions—Caspian in front of her, offering answers wrapped in manipulation, and Rowan behind her, silent, watching, present in a way she can’t ignore anymore.
The room feels smaller for it.
More contained.
Like the walls have shifted inward without moving.
Finally—
she speaks.
“Get out,” she says.
The words are directed at Caspian.
But they don’t feel like they belong to just one person.
Caspian studies her for a second longer.
he inclines his head slightly.
Not submissive.
Not respectful.
Acknowledging something.
“You know where to find me,” he says.
And just like that—
he’s gone.
The house swallows him as easily as it revealed him, the shadows closing in behind him until there’s nothing left but the echo of his presence and the weight of everything he just left behind.
Seina doesn’t move.
Not immediately.
Her gaze stays fixed on the doorway where he disappeared, her thoughts still catching on everything he said—Faylan, the bond, the ball—
she chose it.
The words twist again.
She forces them down.
Later.
She’ll deal with that later.
Right now—
she turns.
Slowly.
Her eyes land on the cat.