CASSIAN
I stood up, walking to the small refrigerator to pull out a cold bottle of water, my back turned to him. "He knows he's my next target. Which means I have to be better than careful. I have to be three steps ahead of his patience."
Cyan considered this for a long moment, the silence stretching out between the tall cabinets. "Beat the old man at his own game," he said softly.
"Something like that."
Cyan's grin returned, slow and sharp around the edges as he went back to his fruit plate. "I like it. Old men absolutely hate losing to people who are younger than their own resentments."
He reached for a strawberry, but as he lifted his eyes to look at me, his gaze hooked on the collar of my tshirt. The skin of my throat was fully visible under the white kitchen lights.
The grin on Cyan's face froze, then widened into something delighted and entirely wicked.
