The metallic scent of gun oil clung to the air, mingling with the acrid tang of spent gunpowder.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three bullets. Three perfect holes forming a neat triangle in the center of the target board.
Selena "Nyx" Veyra lowered her pistol, checking the grouping with the faintest smirk. Perfection wasn't an achievement for her—it was a habit. In the fraternity, other assassins feared her; clients requested her by name. If you wanted a target dead without witnesses or noise, you sent Nyx.
A slow clap echoed from the corner.
"Show-off," Zara teased, leaning lazily against the wall.
Nyx's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't last five minutes out there without practice."
"I'd last six," Zara grinned, crossing the room. "And you know it."
Nyx reset the target, swapping her weapon for another—a sleeker, heavier model—only for Zara to groan dramatically.
"The right gun for the right job, remember? Why bother switching in the middle of a session?"
"You tempt me too much, Zara. If you weren't you…it could get you killed."
Zara rolled her eyes, unbothered. "Please. We both know you wouldn't touch me, babe."
"Sai che ti odio per questo," Nyx muttered in Italian. (You know I hate you for that.)
"E ti amo anch'io, tesoro." (And I love you too, baby.) Zara winked and tossed one of her gloves at Nyx.
Nyx dodged it without moving her feet.
The door creaked open, and both women's banter froze.
Cassian Holt stepped inside—tall, sharp-eyed, every movement precise, like a man who calculated even the tilt of his head. His gaze swept the room before locking on Nyx.
"Zara, you're with me elsewhere," he said calmly.
Zara rolled her eyes but obeyed, leaving without protest. Nyx's pulse quickened—not from fear, but from the familiar intensity of being alone with him. She trusted him like she trusted Zara, and she had indulged him before, letting him get close in ways that had become their normal. Yet today, her mind was elsewhere, circling the question she had been longing to ask.
Cassian stepped closer, guiding her down the hallway toward his room. Nyx trailed behind, lost in thought, barely noticing how close she had gotten. When he stopped abruptly at the door, she bumped into him accidentally, her nose pressing lightly against his back.
"Oops," she murmured, stepping back quickly, cheeks warming at her own clumsiness.
Cassian's eyes flicked over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Careful," he said quietly, his voice low enough that it sent a shiver down her spine.
Once inside, the door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in private silence. Without warning, he pressed her against him, capturing her lips in a mad, urgent kiss. Nyx froze for a heartbeat, then allowed herself to melt into it, the warmth and closeness sending a shiver down her spine. He had done this many times before, but this was different—more insistent, more consuming. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, almost unconsciously, her breath shallow and uneven, heart hammering.
His hands guided her toward the bed, steady and firm. When they reached it, Nyx tapped him lightly, needing a moment to catch her breath. Her cheeks burned, pulse racing, and her curiosity finally pushed her to speak.
"Cassian…why me?" she asked, voice low, trembling slightly.
He paused, brushing a thumb along her cheek, eyes softening. "Because it's you, Nyx," he said simply, calmly, certain.
Nyx's chest tightened, the words grounding her even as the heat of the moment lingered. Her gaze flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes. Another question, one she had been afraid to voice, left her lips:
"Then…what made you love me?"
Cassian's eyes softened further. He traced a finger along her jawline, slow and deliberate. "Everything about you. How you move, how you think, the way you trust the people close to you. It's…you," he said, low and steady.
Nyx's pulse fluttered. Her knees felt slightly weak, her hands clenching subtly at his chest. He leaned in again, lips brushing hers, slower this time, giving her space to breathe, to process, to feel.
But as his hands moved further, slipping into territory they had never crossed before, an instinctive spike of panic flared. Her body stiffened, her breath hitched, and she pulled back sharply, breaking the kiss.
"Cassian…stop," she whispered, voice trembling yet firm, eyes wide, trying to catch her scattered breath.
He froze, reading her completely, expression unreadable yet tense. "Nyx…"
"I…not yet," she said, straightening, wrapping herself in a protective wall. She needed space, clarity, and air. Without waiting for him to speak, she turned and moved toward the door, her steps steady but hurried.
The night air outside greeted her like a balm. She leaned against the balcony railing, letting the breeze whip through her hair and calm her racing heart. Every touch, every word, every brush of his lips replayed in her mind. Why me? The question lingered, tangled with a new, unsteady ache of curiosity and longing.
Her hands hugged herself, grounding her. Below, the city lights twinkled, distant and indifferent, while up here, her thoughts felt enormous, heavy with possibilities she wasn't yet ready to name.
Cassian hadn't followed—he hadn't needed to. Somehow, just knowing he was waiting, patient and unwavering, made her pulse quicken again. She exhaled slowly, letting herself feel the warmth and tension that lingered, knowing it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Nyx allowed herself a small, almost shy smile, a spark of daring in her chest. Whatever this was between them, it was far from finished—and somehow, she both dreaded and craved the next step.
She turned from the balcony, stepping back into the hall, letting the quiet of the night envelop her, ready to leave the room behind and face whatever came next.