As the door closed behind him, his pulse picked.
Cassian noticed the slight tightness in Nico's shoulders. The way his steps were measured, controlled. The faint shift of weight that suggested readiness rather than ease. Cassian's mind began to calculate the distance to the desk, angle of approach, how fast Nico could draw if he was carrying (he always did), how long it would take Cassian to disarm him before a shot turned permanent.
Thirty seconds, maybe less.
He hated that this was how he thought about someone who had once stood at his back without question.
Nico moved to the window, hands clasped behind him, gaze trained on the grounds beyond the glass. Cassian remained near the desk, posture loose but alert, the way predators pretended to relax before a strike.
