The hotel mission ended at four in the morning with two arrests, one stolen hard drive, and Dominic banned permanently from the rooftop champagne bar.

Nobody asked questions about the champagne bar.

Mostly out of fear.

By the time the team returned to the safehouse, everybody looked exhausted enough to legally qualify as ghosts.

Evie kicked her shoes off near the garage stairs and headed toward the kitchen still wearing Cassian’s suit jacket over her dress.

Not intentionally.

She just never gave it back.

The sleeves hung past her hands slightly.

It smelled like rain, gun oil, and the detergent she kept making fun of him for buying.

The kitchen lights stayed dim this early.

Rain drifted softly against the windows while somebody upstairs snored with genuine emotional commitment.

Evie opened the fridge.

Stared inside for a second.

Then closed it again.

Nothing looked edible.

Which felt deeply disrespectful after surviving undercover marriage.

She wandered toward the pantry instead.

Half asleep.

Still carrying Cassian’s jacket around her shoulders.

The pantry shelves sat crowded with protein bars, instant coffee, medical supplies, and Dominic’s increasingly concerning collection of hot sauces.

Evie reached for cereal.

A folded sticky note slipped loose from the shelf above it.

She caught it automatically.

Bright pink paper.

Her handwriting.

DO NOT LET KANE TOUCH MY ENERGY DRINKS

—seriously i mean it

Evie blinked once.

“…What.”

She turned the note over.

Nothing.

Old adhesive near the edges suggested somebody peeled it off another surface carefully instead of throwing it away.

Evie frowned slightly and looked around the pantry.

Another note sat tucked beside the coffee filters.

STOP BUYING OAT MILK

IT TASTES LIKE SADNESS

Also hers.

Another near the medicine cabinet shelf.

WHOEVER ATE MY LEFTOVER FRIES

COUNT YOUR DAYS

Evie stared harder now.

No.

No way.

She opened the cabinet wider.

Three more notes sat tucked neatly between supply boxes.

Tiny stupid things she’d scribbled over months around the safehouse.

One attached to a flashlight:

THIS ONE FLICKERS LIKE A DEMONIC OBJECT

Another stuck near instant noodles:

if i die tell people i was hot

And another folded carefully beneath a box of ammunition:

CASSIAN THIS IS NOT A NORMAL AMOUNT OF KNIVES

Evie stopped moving.

Rain tapped quietly against the kitchen windows.

The safehouse stayed asleep around her while she stood in the pantry holding six months of dumb nonsense preserved like evidence.

Not random either.

Organized.

Protected.

Like somebody collected them carefully.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

Not dramatic.

Just enough to make breathing feel strange for a second.

Footsteps crossed the upstairs hallway somewhere overhead.

Evie looked down at another note in her hand.

Tiny coffee stain near one corner.

She remembered writing this one half awake during a thunderstorm when the power went out.

KANE STOP MICROWAVING FISH AT 2AM

I AM BEGGING YOU

A laugh escaped her quietly before she could stop it.

Then another feeling hit right behind it.

Softer.

Worse.

Cassian kept them.

Every ridiculous note.

Every complaint.

Every stupid joke.

Evie leaned lightly against the pantry shelf while rain slid slowly down the windows beyond the kitchen.

The realization settled slowly through her chest.

He noticed everything.

Not in the terrifying tactical way anymore.

Not just exits and weapons and threats.

Her.

The things she touched.

The things she said without thinking.

The dumb notes nobody else even remembered existed.

Evie looked back toward the folded papers in her hands.

One note sat tucked deeper behind the coffee tins than the others.

Older.

The edges worn slightly from being unfolded too often.

Evie pulled it free carefully.

The handwriting hit immediately.

Messier than usual.

Written too fast.

THANK YOU FOR COMING BACK

—E

Silence filled the pantry softly afterward.

Evie remembered that one.

Cassian returned from a mission half-dead three months ago and she left the note beside the coffee machine before passing out on the couch.

She never mentioned it again.

Apparently he didn’t forget.

The kitchen blurred slightly.

Evie blinked hard once.

Annoying.

Very annoying.

“You emotionally repressed psycho,” she whispered quietly to herself.

A floorboard creaked behind her.

Evie turned too quickly.

Cassian stood near the kitchen entrance wearing a dark t-shirt and sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower.

He looked tired.

Not mission tired.

The deeper kind.

His eyes moved immediately toward the notes in her hands.

Then toward the open pantry shelf behind her.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

Evie held up one sticky note slowly.

“…You kept these?”

Cassian stayed near the doorway.

“Yes.”

“That is objectively insane behavior.”

A tiny shift crossed near the corner of his mouth.

Almost a smile.

Gone quickly.

Evie looked back down at the notes again.

“You kept the fish microwave one.”

“Kane deserved documentation.”

That actually made her laugh once through the tightness still sitting in her throat.

Cassian watched her quietly.

Not tense this time.

Just waiting.

Evie unfolded another note carefully between her fingers.

“You organized them.”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

Cassian looked toward the papers in her hands instead of answering immediately.

The kitchen lights cast soft gold across the counter between them while rainwater drifted down the glass outside.

Finally he said:

“You leave pieces of yourself everywhere.”

Evie stopped breathing for a second.

Not from drama.

Just the honesty of it.

Cassian shifted slightly near the doorway.

“I liked finding them.”

The silence afterward felt warm enough to hurt.

Evie looked down quickly before he noticed her eyes starting to burn.

Too late probably.

She folded the notes carefully together.

One shaky breath escaped before she could stop it.

Cassian took one step toward her automatically.

“Evie.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re crying.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

Great.

Excellent timing.

Evie pressed one hand hard against her eyes and laughed weakly under her breath.

“This is so embarrassing.”

Cassian crossed the kitchen slowly.

No rush.

No sudden movement.

He stopped directly in front of her beside the pantry shelves.

Close enough now that she could smell rain and soap lingering faintly against his skin.

Evie still looked down.

“You kept stupid sticky notes,” she muttered. “Who even does that.”

Cassian glanced toward the papers still clutched carefully in her hands.

Then back at her.

“Me.”