Why You Are Here

Over the next couple of days, Rashan and Jalil would have their meals with Cassia. With her being slightly malnourished, Rashan wanted her to recover before any strenuous activity. With the people of this world being more resilient, a week would allow her the time she needed.

Though when Rashan was eating—which was a ridiculous amount of food because of Indomitable Stamina and his three-a-day workouts—Cassia was not trying to give him a look. But he could see it.

Jalil leaned toward her. "Don't worry," he said casually. "First time I saw him eat, I thought we were housing a wild sabrecat."

Cassia snorted into her milk.

She blinked like she didn't expect it. Wiped her mouth. Looked away.

Rashan grinned as he ate. He was glad Jalil was able to break past her shell.

Jalil was pretty charismatic—the natural aura of a leader, if you asked Rashan.

A couple of nights later, Rashan decided to have a talk with her.

Cassia heard a soft knock at her door. Two taps—even, deliberate.

She opened it.

Rashan stood in the hall, calm and direct. "Come with me," he said.

She nodded, coming out of her room to follow him.

The estate was quiet, the world caught in that still breath between heat and cold. Moonlight cut across the courtyard in sharp silver lines, the shadows long and unmoving. They walked in silence, past sleeping rooms and shuttered windows, until Rashan led her to the edge of the training yard beneath an old twisted fig tree.

He stopped.

"You're probably wondering why I brought you here."

He didn't wait for a response.

"I think you can be my thief. My knife in the dark."

Cassia stared at him—not afraid, not impressed. Just trying to make sense of him.

"This world's ruled by power," Rashan continued. "The kind that hides behind names, walls, and money. But power has blind spots. And I need someone who can slip through them."

He said it like fact. No drama. No promises.

"Starting tomorrow," he said, "we're adding sign language to your training. One hour a day."

Cassia blinked. Her brow furrowed slightly, looking at him like, what is sign language?

He saw the confusion and answered it simply.

"A way to speak with your hands."

She nodded slowly, still trying to work out what speaking with your hands meant.

As he walked with her, he thought back to the veterans' hospital where he spent the better part of a year—half of it getting surgeries. He had lost both legs, damaged his spine, and sustained brain trauma.

There was a soldier next to him who had suffered a significant throat injury—including his vocal cords. He would never talk again.

Most of the time, Rashan was in a brain fog from his injuries and the pain meds. Months spent half-conscious in a hospital bed. But the man next to him? He watched videos. Every day. Hands moving through signs. Repeating, adjusting. Determined.

Rashan hadn't cared back then. Not really.

But now?

Thanks to perfect recall, every lesson had stuck. Every gesture. Every motion. He could clearly remember the videos.

"Anyways… this is why you're here."

They ended up on the wall. One day, he would leave this place. He wanted to see what the world had to offer.

He didn't say anything else, and they stood watching the moons.

He gave her a nod and turned back toward the hall.

Then he disappeared into the dark.

Cassia stood beneath the tree a moment longer, the wind lifting the hem of her tunic. The courtyard was still. Silent. But her mind wasn't.

She didn't know exactly what she was being shaped into.

As Cassia stared up at the night sky, the moons looked impossibly far away and too close at once.

Masser burned low and dull red behind drifting clouds. Secunda trailed nearby, pale and sharp like a knife's edge. The stars around them blinked in and out, scattered across the dark like ash in water. She didn't know their names. Never cared to. But she watched them anyway.

The stones beneath her feet still held some of the day's warmth. The wind was dry, brushing through her clothes and tugging at the loose ends of her sleeves. The estate was quiet. Still. Peaceful in a way that didn't feel real yet.

She remembered, faintly, what it felt like to have a full belly.

Not the kind that came from stale bread or whatever could be stolen fast enough to run with. Real food. Something warm. Something that made your chest stop tightening for just a little while.

She didn't know what to make of any of it.

Amira had been showing her around—quietly, patiently. There were chores. Small duties. Places she could be useful. It was structured but not harsh. If it meant she got to sleep in a bed and eat regular meals, she didn't mind. That alone made this place feel like a dream.

Then there was Jalil.

The funny one.

From what she'd pieced together, he'd been a servant once, Amira's son.

And when Rashan was around?

That's what confused her.

When no one else was watching, the two of them—Rashan and Jalil—acted like brothers. They spoke freely. She had never heard a Nobel doing that with a servant's son.

That wasn't how nobility behaved.

And Rashan…

She didn't know what to make of him at all.

He moved different. Spoke different. Like someone who'd seen the worst parts of the world and decided not to pretend they didn't exist. He didn't ask for thanks. Didn't talk down to her. Didn't try to earn her trust.

The way he talked… we can do this and it's your choice.

He just… was.

That made her uneasy. But it also made her curious.

And for the first time in a long while, she wasn't thinking about her next meal. She was thinking about what came next.