Rain hit the safehouse windows hard enough to rattle the glass.

Evie sat cross-legged on the floor outside Cassian’s office surrounded by cables, tools, and growing frustration.

“There is no reason one human being needs this many encrypted hard drives.”

Kane walked past carrying coffee.

“He trusts nobody.”

“He trusts passwords too much.”

“That’s fair.”

Evie held up two nearly identical charging cables.

“Why do military people make everything look like it belongs on a submarine?”

Kane pointed vaguely toward the office.

“Trauma.”

“Helpful answer. Very informative.”

She finally found the correct charger tangled beneath the desk and leaned sideways to unplug it.

Something caught against the edge of the drawer.

A folder slipped loose.

Papers scattered across the floor.

Evie groaned immediately.

“Oh, come on.”

Kane looked over once.

Then instantly started backing away.

“Nope.”

“What do you mean nope?”

“I mean I suddenly respect privacy.”

“Kane.”

“Good luck with your crimes.”

He disappeared down the hallway at survival speed.

Coward.

Evie reached automatically for the papers before somebody stepped on them.

The first page looked harmless enough.

Medical records.

Second page—

surveillance photos.

Third—

a photograph slid free and landed face-up beside her knee.

Evie stopped moving.

A woman smiled back at her from the picture.

Dark hair tucked behind one ear.

Sunlight across her face.

Coffee cup in both hands.

Not posed.

Somebody took the photo while she laughed at them.

Evie picked it up slowly.

A name sat paperclipped beneath it.

ELENA MARIN

The office suddenly felt quieter.

Rainwater rolled down the windows behind the desk in crooked silver lines.

Evie looked back toward the photograph.

Then the next page.

MISSION REPORT

OPERATION FAILURE

Her stomach tightened slightly.

Not panic.

Just that strange empty drop when a conversation changes direction too fast.

More papers sat beneath the report.

Dates.

Locations.

Casualty lists.

One line circled in black ink.

Civilian exposure linked to operative attachment.

Evie stared at the sentence.

Then at Elena’s photograph again.

The smile looked warm.

Easy.

The kind people had before they learned what Cassian did for a living.

Another page rested underneath the file stack.

Handwritten notes.

Cassian’s handwriting.

Short lines pressed hard enough into the paper to leave marks underneath.

Operational attachment compromised judgment.

No further civilian involvement permitted.

Evie exhaled slowly through her nose.

“Oh.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

She looked up too late.

Cassian stood in the doorway.

Black shirt.

Sleeves rolled once near the wrists.

Still carrying rainwater across one shoulder from outside.

His eyes landed on the file immediately.

Then the photograph in her hand.

Neither of them spoke.

Evie stood too quickly and almost bent the corner of the page.

“I was looking for the charger.”

Cassian stayed near the doorway.

Not angry.

Honestly harder to read than anger.

Evie held the photograph awkwardly between both hands.

“She died?”

Rain tapped steadily against the windows.

Cassian crossed the office slowly and took the papers from her before they slipped again.

Careful movement.

Like he’d done this exact motion too many times already.

He stacked the pages neatly against the desk.

Straightened one bent corner.

Then slid the photograph back into the folder.

Evie watched his hands the whole time.

No gloves tonight.

Old scars crossed his knuckles near the thumb.

“She died during an operation,” she said quietly.

Cassian shut the folder.

“She died during mine.”

The sentence stayed in the room after he finished speaking.

No explanation followed it.

No dramatic story.

Just rain against the glass and the soft sound of the drawer sliding shut.

Evie leaned lightly against the edge of the desk.

“You loved her.”

Cassian’s hand stayed resting on the cabinet drawer a second longer than necessary.

Then:

“Yes.”

Flat voice.

No hesitation.

That almost made it worse.

Evie looked toward the cabinet again.

The file sat too close to reach easily.

Too organized.

Nothing about it looked forgotten.

“She knew what you did?”

“Yes.”

“And stayed anyway.”

Cassian looked down briefly at the desk.

“She thought she understood the risk.”

Evie swallowed once.

The office felt colder now.

Not physically.

Just quieter.

Like the room rearranged itself around the file once it opened.

Cassian stepped back from the cabinet finally.

“You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“I know.”

“You should leave.”

The words sounded tired more than harsh.

Evie nodded once.

But she didn’t move yet.

Outside the office, somebody downstairs yelled at Dominic for putting protein powder into pancake batter again.

The sound barely carried upstairs.

Evie looked at Cassian carefully.

“You think getting close to you kills people.”

Cassian didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

His eyes shifted toward the rain-streaked windows instead.

Evie rubbed one hand against her sleeve.

“Elena staying wasn’t your fault.”

“That isn’t how outcomes work.”

There it was.

Not self-pity.

Not guilt dressed up dramatically.

Just certainty.

The kind that settles into somebody after enough funerals.

Evie looked down at the charger still hanging loosely from her hand.

Then toward the cabinet again.

A whole life reduced to folders and reports and one photograph hidden in a locked drawer.

Cassian moved first this time.

One step backward.

Tiny movement.

Still enough to notice.

Distance again.

The same distance he always built when things started meaning too much.

Evie saw it happen in real time now.

Not mystery.

Protection.

Or whatever version of protection people like Cassian believed in.

She nodded once toward the cabinet.

“She looked happy.”

Cassian stayed quiet.

Evie looked at him another second.

Then finally stepped toward the door.

No dramatic goodbye.

No speech.

Just the charger in her hand and rain against the windows.

She paused briefly near the doorway.

“For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “I don’t think she regretted loving you.”

Cassian looked up at her then.

Actually looked at her.

Evie didn’t wait long enough to see what answer might’ve followed.

She walked out quietly and closed the office door behind her.

Inside the room, Cassian stayed beside the desk without moving.

Rainwater slid slowly down the windows.

After a while he opened the drawer again.

The photograph sat exactly where he left it.

Elena laughing into sunlight.

Cassian rested one scarred hand against the edge of the cabinet.

Then looked once toward the closed office door before shutting the drawer again.