Cassius looked away from Brent without answering. His eyes fixed on the muted glow of the ceiling light, but his thoughts were far beyond the room.
The question about twelve years ago had sliced too close. Even after all this time, those memories were the one wound he refused to touch. If he spoke now, he would feel it all over again: the loss, the purge, the helplessness. He drew a slow breath, forcing his jaw to relax.
Brent watched him for a moment, clearly noticing the silence, but he did not press. Cassius's profile alone told the story. The man's shoulders had stiffened, his gaze pinned to nothing, his fingers brushing once over his temple like he could rub away the past. Brent's lips pressed together, but he dropped the subject.
---
