Cassius did not respond. He kept walking, his footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floors.
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows along the corridor, stretching his form against the walls like something distorted and unrecognizable.
He did not know what had compelled him to say those words. He had not intended to speak them. And yet, the moment they had left his lips, he had not regretted them.
What he regretted was Elias's response.
The hesitation. The careful choice of words. The way he had clung to the invisible line between them, as if crossing it would mean stepping into something irreparable.
Cassius had seen the flicker of confusion in his eyes, the uncertainty that followed.
He should not have said it.
Not because it was inappropriate. Not because it was wrong. But because Elias was not the kind of person who would simply accept it.
And Cassius, he did not want to see rejection in his gaze.
His jaw tightened.
