Six months later, Cassian still scared tourists accidentally.

Not on purpose.

Mostly.

The repair shop sat near the coast just outside Monterey where sea air carried salt through the open garage doors and gulls screamed constantly over the harbor like tiny angry politicians.

Evie loved it immediately.

Cassian tolerated it with visible suspicion.

The building used to be an old boat repair warehouse before they bought it with stolen NOCTURNE offshore money Kane called “morally recycled finances.”

Now half the space held car lifts and tool cabinets while the other half somehow turned into a chaotic combination of coffee station, emergency medical shelf, and Dominic’s deeply concerning snack drawer.

Sunflowers hung everywhere.

On windowsills.

Near the office desk.

Painted badly across one toolbox.

Cassian hated them.

Which unfortunately encouraged Evie further.

“You know,” she said one afternoon while standing on a ladder near the front office window, “your opposition only strengthens my artistic vision.”

Cassian looked up from the motorcycle engine he was rebuilding.

“You painted flowers on military-grade storage equipment.”

“They needed emotional development.”

Cassian wiped grease slowly from his hands with a rag.

“You are a hostile work environment.”

Evie grinned down at him.

“And yet you keep renewing your employment contract.”

The garage bell above the front door rang suddenly.

An elderly fisherman walked inside carrying a rusted engine part wrapped in cloth.

He stopped immediately after spotting Cassian beneath the fluorescent lights.

Then looked toward Evie carefully.

“…Is he always built like a hitman.”

Evie climbed down from the ladder without hesitation.

“Oh, absolutely. But now he fixes carburetors instead of emotionally devastating governments.”

Cassian stared at her flatly.

The fisherman looked deeply uncertain whether she joked.

Fair reaction honestly.

Outside, waves crashed softly against the harbor rocks while late afternoon sunlight poured gold through the open garage doors.

The repair shop smelled like salt air, coffee, motor oil, and fresh paint from Evie’s ongoing war against industrial aesthetics.

Somehow it worked.

Kane handled finances remotely from an apartment in San Diego where he claimed he was “retired,” despite calling the shop twelve times a day in emotional panic whenever Dominic touched accounting software.

Dominic occasionally appeared at random with mysterious bruises and fake passports nobody asked about anymore.

Sofia visited twice a month strictly to insult everyone’s medical habits.

Found family maintained through harassment.

Cassian slid back beneath the motorcycle hood while the fisherman wandered toward the front counter.

Evie watched him quietly for a second.

Six months later, Cassian still moved like violence might become necessary at any moment.

Still scanned exits first.

Still stood with his back near walls automatically.

Some things probably never left completely.

But other things changed.

He slept through the night now.

Mostly.

The gloves disappeared entirely.

The mask stayed locked inside a drawer upstairs above the apartment they shared over the shop.

And sometimes—usually late at night when the garage lights turned soft and the ocean fog rolled in—he laughed before realizing he was doing it.

Those moments always felt important.

Evie carried two coffee mugs toward the workbench and nudged one beside him.

Cassian glanced up automatically.

“You remembered no sugar.”

“You say that every single time.”

“You change coffee orders unpredictably.”

“I changed it ONCE.”

Cassian took the mug.

Their fingers brushed lightly together.

Easy now.

Natural.

No hesitation left in it anymore.

The fisherman eventually left after promising to return Tuesday with “less haunted engine parts.”

Evie locked the front door behind him while sunset burned orange across the harbor outside.

The garage finally quieted.

No customers.

No missions.

No blood drying beneath emergency lights.

Just waves outside and music playing softly from the old radio near Dominic’s snack shelf.

Cassian finished tightening the last bolt beneath the motorcycle hood before straightening slowly.

Grease streaked one forearm.

Dark shirt sleeves rolled up.

Hair falling slightly into his eyes now that nobody forced military cuts on him anymore.

Evie leaned against the counter watching him openly.

Cassian noticed immediately.

“You’re staring.”

“You’re handsome.”

The answer came too fast.

Cassian still looked mildly uncomfortable every time she said things like that.

Progress.

“You say that like it’s relevant.”

Evie smiled.

“It’s EXTREMELY relevant.”

Cassian shook his head once beneath a faint breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

Then he crossed the garage toward the sink near the side wall.

Sunset light followed him through the open bay doors while ocean wind moved softly through the shop.

Evie watched him wash grease from his hands quietly.

Months ago, silence around Cassian felt sharp.

Defensive.

Now it settled differently.

Calmer.

Lived-in.

Like neither of them needed to fill every quiet space proving they stayed.

Evie crossed the garage slowly and stopped beside him near the sink.

Cassian looked down at her automatically.

Still taller.

Still terrifying enough to make strangers nervous.

Except now he wore faded black t-shirts and carried sunflower seeds in his jacket pocket because she once complained the shop “lacked emotional agriculture.”

Character development looked ridiculous on him.

Evie reached up and wiped a grease streak lightly from his jaw with her thumb.

Cassian’s hand settled automatically against her waist.

No panic in the touch anymore.

No hesitation.

Just instinct now.

Outside, gulls screamed somewhere over the docks while evening fog drifted slowly across the coastline.

“You know what’s weird?” Evie murmured.

Cassian looked at her.

“You used to act like touching me might trigger an international incident.”

“That concern was reasonable.”

Evie laughed softly.

Cassian watched her another second after the sound faded.

Then his expression changed slightly.

Not guarded.

Not afraid.

Just warm in that quiet way he still didn’t fully realize showed on his face now.

Evie felt her chest tighten immediately.

Dangerous man.

Terrible effect.

“What,” she asked softly.

Cassian’s thumb brushed once against the side of her waist beneath the sweatshirt.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

A gull crashed loudly into something metal outside.

Neither of them looked away from each other.

Then Cassian leaned down and kissed her.

No urgency this time.

No panic.

No survival instinct wrapped around it.

Just open affection beneath garage lights and ocean air.

Evie smiled against his mouth almost immediately.

Cassian felt it happen and kissed her again anyway.

Longer now.

Certain.

When he finally pulled back, the sunset behind him painted warm gold across the garage windows and caught briefly against the old scars near his mouth.

Evie touched his face lightly.

“There you are,” she whispered again.

This time Cassian smiled without trying to hide it.