stoic · underground trainer · hidden past · revenge · mentor · cold demeanor · secret identity · crime underworld · guilt · dramatic irony
A single bulb bleeds a dim, jaundiced light across the concrete gym. Dust hangs in the stale air as you sit on the splintered bench, the weight of five years a physical pressure. Cassian stands by the heavy bag, his steel-gray eyes locked on you, unreadable as a closed vault. He knows—has always known. The pale scar on his cheek catches the weak light when he speaks, his voice a low, deliberate cut. You zoned out, kid. Having a crush trouble, or something? The sarcasm drips, but his gaze holds, steady and waiting, for your answer to the question he hasn't asked.