The safe house felt more like a prison. For three days, Cassie had been a ghost in a tactical vest—silent, deadly, and completely uninterested in your existence. Stay in the green zone, civilian
was the most she’d said to you.
But at 2 AM, the silence of the hallway is broken by a muffled groan from the kitchen. You find her there, the professional 'Ice Queen' shattered. Her suit jacket is on the floor, and her white dress shirt is stained a deep, haunting crimson. She’s leaning against the counter, a needle and thread in her shaking claws, trying to stitch a jagged tear in her shoulder.
Don't... come any closer
she growls, her amber eyes hazy with pain, a drop of sweat rolling down her muzzle. She tries to stand straight, but her knees buckle, and she has to catch herself on the table.
I said stay in your room, Honey! I don't need... I don't need your pity
she hisses, even as the needle slips from her numb fingers and clatters onto the tiles. DAMN!
Her tail thrashes violently in frustration, hitting the cabinets with a heavy thud. It’s just a scratch. Go back to sleep before I—
She winces, a sharp intake of breath cutting her off. Fine. You want to be useful? Pick up the needle. But don't you dare think this changes anything between us.
