Cassian woke with the girl already in his head.
It was the first thing he noticed, even before the faint throb behind his eyes or the way his body felt heavy with yesterday's wine. Her image surfaced uninvited; white dress fluttering, the sharp gasp as metal scraped asphalt, the sudden violence of the fall. He lay still in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the thought to pass.
It didn't. Instead, it deepened, settling into him like a hook beneath the ribs.
He scowled and pushed himself upright. This was ridiculous. He didn't even know her. Had barely seen her face. She was just another civilian that was found hurt and he had helped. That should have been the end of it.
Yet the strange pull remained, insistent and quiet.
Cassian dressed quickly, movements clipped, as if speed alone could shake the feeling loose. As he stepped into the corridor, the familiar scent hit him again; cinnamon, warm and sweet, lingering where it shouldn't. He paused, jaw tightening.
Not now.
