Private In the Arms of Unspoken Truths

[Shade]

Amber light spilled from hovering crystal chandeliers, scattering constellations across marble and silk. The orchestra's stately rhythm guided guests in sweeping arcs—a dance of power disguised as elegance.

Shade stood near one of the grand windows, posture sleek and precise, crimson gaze tracing every vulnerability in the room. Tonight, she was no assassin—not in appearance. The black gown she wore draped like a shadow given form, movement fluid enough to pass for grace rather than the coiled readiness it concealed.

Cassian stood at her side, the perfect contrast. He wore charm with casual precision, each smile effortless—as though the night were meant for pleasure alone. His presence at her elbow read as an intimate partnership to anyone glancing their direction, and Shade allowed the illusion…if only because its nearness steadied something unnamed inside her.

Their hands brushed lightly—a calculated whisper of touch meant for watchers. Her pulse betrayed her with a subtle hitch. She hoped he didn't notice.

Beneath their polished veneer, the quarry awaited its cue. A traitor in fine attire. A threat wrapped in diplomacy.

Shade inhaled once—slow, grounding. The Force murmured with subtle distortion; their target was close, shifting through the crowd like a ripple waiting to break.

Cassian leaned toward her, his breath grazing the shell of her ear—a gesture too intimate to be accidental, yet perfectly aligned with their cover.

"Upper mezzanine. Moving," he murmured, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. Shade did not turn to look. She angled her chin in acknowledgment—a gesture small, elegant…and dangerous.

"We stay close," she replied, words soft but certain.

Cassian's answering smile was a quiet thing—warm, knowing, and far too distracting.

A perfect night for civility. A perfect night for treason. A perfect night for shadows to brush edges with something dangerously like longing.

The hunt had begun.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian had always preferred the kind of danger that wore perfume. The ballroom was thick with it tonight, sweet and deceptive, the sort that clung to silk sleeves and honeyed words. He caught the reflection of himself and Shade in the polished glass of the window: two figures cut from contrast. Her sharp, deliberate, all shadow and stillness. Him a mask of ease, built from charm and practiced detachment.

It was a dance they’d done before, though it felt different this time.

His eyes fixed on their quarry even as his breath stirred the loose strands of her hair. He’d meant it as a strategy, a clean relay of observation but the closeness lingered longer than it should have. The scent of something floral and electric caught in his throat, and he almost smiled at his own carelessness.

Shade’s answer was the same as ever: poised, measured, but carrying that quiet fire he’d come to recognize in her voice. We stay close.

He could almost hear the unsaid don’t lose me this time.

Cassian’s gaze flicked upward to the mezzanine.

“Stay close.” Cassian echoed under his breath, his tone softer, colored with something that didn’t quite sound like mockery.

 

[Shade]

Shade's gaze swept the ballroom, noting exits, corners, and vantage points with meticulous precision: a service door tucked behind a tapestry, a side corridor leading toward the mezzanine, even the faint glint of a balcony railing that could conceal an attacker. Every angle, every possible threat was cataloged, measured, and filed. Yet her attention never strayed far from him.

"We move together," she murmured, low enough for only him to hear, voice steady but threaded with a pull she didn't name. "Close enough to cover each other."

Her eyes flicked over his posture—the deliberate way he balanced charm and caution—the green of his eyes catching the chandelier light. Even here, amid the perfumed chaos of the ballroom, she felt the tug of something she refused to call.

"Do not falter," she whispered, almost to herself, the words a quiet echo of the thought she'd already given him once. Not a command, but a tether—an anchor. "We are shadows together."

A subtle tilt of her head let him know she acknowledged the closeness without naming what lingered between them. Her pulse remained measured, her posture taut, but the weight of trust—and something unspoken—threaded every motion.

Her fingers brushed the edge of her dress as her eyes returned to the exits: the service door, the corridor, the mezzanine. She cataloged them all again, quietly, as if the repetition itself reinforced her focus—and her awareness of him.

"Keep your focus," she murmured, soft but firm. "We move as one. Close. Always."

Even in restraint, her gaze found him once more, a silent acknowledgment of the tether that bound them through danger and through moments like this.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian caught it, the smallest falter in her rhythm. Shade was precision incarnate, a creature of angles and intent, but there it was: a breath too long between scans of the crowd, the brief flicker of her gaze when the light caught his eyes. He had seen her in the heat of missions, unflinching before blasterfire and blades, yet this, this quiet hesitation was something far rarer.

His chest tightened before he understood why.

Without thinking, his hand lifted, fingers brushing against her cheek with a touch that was almost hesitant, almost reverent. The warmth of her skin met his palm, steady and real, and the world seemed to narrow noise fading to the low hum of the orchestra and the steady beat of his heart.

His thumb traced the faintest line along her jaw, as he gently turned her head just enough for their eyes to lock fully, crimson to green, the air between them charged with everything they weren't saying.

"Shade." he murmured, the name softer than any command, carrying more weight than he meant to give it. "I'm glad I met you that night...."

The word lingered between them, unspoken, dangerous, true. For one heartbeat, the ballroom ceased to exist. There were no traitors, no missions, no masks. Only her eyes, and the feeling that if he moved first, the night might change everything.

 

[Shade]

Shade let the weight of his hand settle against her cheek, memorizing the warmth, the subtle tremor of his pulse beneath her fingers. She held him there, steady, her posture flawless, every movement measured—but inside, the precision she wielded like armor wavered. The controlled cadence of her breath, the trained stillness of her limbs, were at war with the growing warmth threading through her chest.

She traced the line of his wrist once more, letting the fine details etch themselves into memory—the curve of his bones, the soft tension of muscle, the quiet certainty in the angle of his arm. Her own hand, disciplined and deliberate, held him close, pressing just enough to feel the depth of his presence.

Crimson eyes met green, and for a suspended moment, there was no ballroom, no mission, no performance: only him, only her, only the steady heat of proximity. The disciplined part of her mind catalogued and analyzed, while the part she refused to name whispered in rhythm with her heartbeat.

"Stay close," she repeated, voice low and precise, carrying the weight of command—and something unspoken, something dangerously personal. Her thumb brushed along his knuckles, fingertips lingering as if anchoring herself to the moment. "And…don't let go."

The words were tactical, fragile, intimate. Her lips barely moved, but the meaning was clear, if he cared to hear it. The rest remained unspoken, folded into the quiet tension between them, dangerous only because it existed at all.

Shade let her hand rest there for a heartbeat longer, breathing in the subtle mix of his presence—the faint scent of him, the warmth, the closeness—and allowed herself to feel, even as her mind reminded her of discipline, of control, of the part of herself that could not, and would not, name this feeling aloud.

Yet she did not move away. Not yet. She let the moment exist, fully and quietly, allowing the connection thread through the space between them while her posture remained impeccable, her expression calm, her crimson eyes sharp.

In that heartbeat, she accepted it all—the danger, the closeness, the unspoken pull—and held it just out of reach of words.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

For a long moment, Cassian forgot the world beyond the space between them. The music dulled to a distant hum, the shimmer of chandeliers fading into a soft, golden haze. All that remained was her, Shade, standing close enough that he could feel the quiet rhythm of her breath against his chest, see the reflection of candlelight flicker in her crimson eyes.

His hand still rested against her cheek, and before he realized it, his thumb traced a slow, unthinking path along her skin. It wasn't strategy anymore. It wasn't part of the act. It was something older, quieter, something that reached beneath the layers of control he'd built to keep himself steady.

He felt her hesitation, the faint tremor of restraint beneath calm precision, and it drew him in further. The part of him trained to measure distance, to calculate advantage, simply…stopped.

"Shade…" he breathed, her name rough against the hush between them.

Then he leaned in, slowly, deliberately closing the space with the kind of care that made the air itself hold still. His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the edge of her hair as he guided her closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

The kiss came unspoken, inevitable gentle at first, searching, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he pressed too hard. The warmth of her lips met his with a restraint that fractured a heartbeat later into something deeper, something honest.

For that suspended instant, there was no duty, no quarry, no masquerade of civility only the pulse of two lives tangled in the same breath, bound by a truth neither of them could afford to name. And it started that night when the first crossed blades.

When he finally drew back, it was barely a breath's distance. His thumb brushed once more along her cheek, and he whispered, voice quiet and unsteady, "You make it far too easy to forget the mission."

 

[Shade]

Shade didn't move at first.

Her breath hovered against his lips—not from surprise, but from the terrifying clarity with which the world suddenly reduced itself to a single point: his hand on her skin, his warmth steady against the cool precision of her composure. The contact was intimate enough to be a confession.

Her fingers curled into the collar of his black tuxedo, grounding herself in the strength beneath tailored elegance. She felt the quiet power coiled beneath the fabric—a noble soldier, restraint wrapped in polish. Too close. Not close enough.

The low hum of violins and murmured laughter from the ballroom seeped faintly through the corridor doors, a distant world untouched by the war happening beneath her ribs.

Cassian's thumb traced a slow, deliberate line along her cheek, his touch careful but unavoidably real. Shade's eyes fluttered shut, just for a heartbeat, and her pulse betrayed her with its sudden quickness under his palm. Discipline warned that closeness meant vulnerability. She had built her life around never allowing anyone within reach of a soft place.

And yet…she leaned into him. This wasn't a strategy. This wasn't for the cover. This was the one fault line she could not force to remain sealed.

The soft brush of his formal coat grazed the exposed skin of her arm, her sleeveless dress offering no barrier against the warmth of him. She felt the steadiness of his breath rise and fall where their bodies aligned, a steady rhythm she found herself matching without permission.

Exits. Threats. Escape routes. All already memorized. None of them mattered.

His kiss. Gentle at first, then deepening with undeniable truth — had undone something she didn't know how to repair. When her forehead rested against his, she breathed him in, pulse thrumming with a quiet ache she refused to name.

When she finally spoke, her voice was a precise whisper, but warmer than she meant it to be.

"Forget the mission," Shade murmured, each syllable measured and dangerous. "For one moment."

Her thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, committing the structure of him to memory like she feared she might not have another chance. Her breath brushed his lips again as she added, softer still:

"Forgetting you…is the part I find impossible."

She should have stepped back. She should have restored the distance she lived by. Instead, she held his hand to her cheek—not letting it go, not letting him go—because the truth she dared not admit even in silence was this:

If she ever lost him, she would feel it. Deep. Permanent. A wound no armor could hide. And Shade—the woman who never faltered—did not pull away.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian hadn't meant for it to go this far. That was the first lie he told himself.

The second was that he could stop it.

The moment her fingers caught his collar, the faint tremor of her breath brushing his lips, the pull of gravity itself seemed to shift, slow, deliberate, and utterly unstoppable. Every instinct honed by years of command, of restraint, of control told him to step back. But every heartbeat told him the opposite.

His eyes traced her face as if memorizing it under starlight the faint sheen of warmth on her skin, the sharp precision in the set of her jaw that couldn't quite hide the fragility beneath. The mask she wore for the galaxy's deadliest rooms, the one he'd watched her use to navigate war and whispers alike, had cracked just enough for him to see the person beneath.

His hand remained at her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the place where pulse met skin. She leaned in just slightly, but enough to shatter whatever line remained between them. The sound of violins carried faintly from the ballroom, distant and irrelevant; his focus tunneled entirely on the woman before him.

When their lips met again, the world seemed to tilt. The kiss was slow, unguarded, drawn from the kind of truth neither of them dared speak aloud. Shade tasted of something dark and deliberate, discipline tangled with want and Cassian's mind went quiet for the first time in years.

Truly quiet....

Her whisper followed, soft and devastating. Forget the mission.

He did.

For that heartbeat, he forgot the Republic, the ballroom, the traitor they were meant to expose. He forgot duty, and the thousand faces that expected his steadiness. His only anchor was the sound of her breath and the warmth of her hand still guiding his.

When he finally drew back, his forehead stayed pressed to hers, eyes half-closed, voice unsteady.

"I think I already have." he murmured.

The words weren't careful. They weren't planned. But as he looked at her, at the assassin who'd become his partner, his equal, his undoing. Cassian knew the truth of it. Whatever came next, whatever they'd risked in that impossible second, he wouldn't have taken it back.

Not for anything.

 

[Shade]

Shade let her forehead linger against his for a heartbeat longer, eyes half-lidded, allowing the quiet pull of the moment to thin between them. Her hand rested lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"Then we'll forget everything else. For just this. Just us."

Her fingers tightened slightly, not out of need, but to mark the truth of what they shared. The world beyond them—the Republic, the mission, the endless expectation—all became background noise. Only Cassian, only this fragile, dangerous stillness, mattered.

"I've waited for this. And I will not let it go… not now, not ever."

She leaned in again, not as a command, not as a shadow of duty, but as a choice, deliberate and unwavering.

"Stay with me, even if only for this second."

Then a faint scuff of boots on polished marble echoed from the far side of the ballroom. Her body tensed, every muscle coiled, but she remained composed. She pressed her forehead briefly to his in a silent acknowledgment before stepping just slightly back to position herself defensively, alert to the room.

"Stay close. Eyes sharp. We finish this together. Nothing else matters right now."

Her gaze swept the space, catching subtle shifts of movement. Shadows and formal silhouettes merged in her vision, every instinct tuned to danger without breaking the fragile intimacy of the moment. For that heartbeat, the connection with Cassian lingered—unspoken, undeniable, their quiet vow intact beneath the edge of immediate threat.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian stayed still for that last suspended breath, feeling her words settle in his chest like a promise he hadn't known he'd been waiting for. Her touch, the weight of her hand against his heart, it was grounding, dangerous, necessary. For all his years of mastering the art of calm, he realized now that calm had never meant peace. She was what peace felt like, brief, impossible, and utterly consuming.

Her forehead brushed his once more before she pulled back, and instinct warred with sense. He wanted to reach for her again, to keep her there just a heartbeat longer. But then came the sound, the echo of boots against marble, a subtle shift that cut through the haze like the snap of a command.

Shade's body changed instantly, all poised elegance giving way to that sharp readiness that lived beneath her skin. Cassian had seen it before, the way she moved when the world demanded perfection but never with the weight of what had just passed between them. Now, every motion she made carried the quiet echo of something more.

He adjusted his stance in sync with hers, slipping seamlessly back into the rhythm they both knew: partners, protectors, a single unit forged in shadow and fire. His gaze flicked toward the mezzanine, where movement rippled like a whisper against the polished rail. The traitor, bold, or foolish, was making their next move.

Cassian's voice was low, calm, threaded with that same tether she'd given him moments before. "Together." he murmured.

The word meant more than it ever had.

As they stepped back into the flow of the ballroom, the distance between them was professional, measured, precise, but the air still carried the memory of her lips, the ghost of her touch. His pulse had yet to slow, though his expression betrayed nothing.

He didn't look at her directly, but his voice, soft enough only she could hear, found her all the same.

"When this is over." he said, tone barely above a breath, "We'll finish where we left off." It wasn't a question. It was a promise quiet, dangerous, and entirely theirs.

He glanced away for a fleeting second, and if he hadn't everything would've been undone. It was almost slow motion, the assasin in the distance had already raised his blaster. Cassian saw it just in time, the target was Shade's back. Cassian grabbed her, pivoting his body as the blaster shot evaded her but hit him in the shoulder. Little did he know this suite was a specialty of one known as John Locke, and proficient against blaster fire. While the impact still hurt, it didn't harm him.

The room broke into chaos. But Cassian was already charging the assassin, chasing him up the stairs, no doubt Shade was right beside him.

 

[Shade]

Shade's body froze as the blaster bolt cut through the ballroom air. Time slowed in her mind—and then she felt the shift, the impact that wasn't hers. Cassian had moved, turning her with perfect precision, taking the shot for her. Relief slammed into her in a wave, sharp and immediate, every tense line in her body loosening even as her instincts screamed for readiness. A flicker of alarm had passed as the blaster struck, but seeing he was unharmed made her chest tighten in both relief and quiet gratitude.

"Move!" she hissed under her breath, voice low, urgent, a tether between them as she stepped into the flow of the chase.

Every motion was controlled, elegant, yet deadly. She mirrored Cassian's pivot instinctively, covering his flank without breaking stride, every instinct honed to protect, to anticipate, to respond.

Her gaze never left the traitor as they surged through the room, the memory of the suspended moment with Cassian—the shared heartbeat just before the chaos—fueling her focus rather than distracting her. For all the danger, there was a pulse: the quiet knowledge that he had her back, that they were together.

"Left side. Me first, then follow," she whispered, her words a calm thread in the storm, guiding, precise, unflinching.

"Don't ever scare me like that," she murmured, a tremor threading her usual precision. "I won't forgive you if you get careless."

Her hand brushed lightly against his arm—not a command, not a reach, but an anchor to confirm he was still there, still alive.

"We'll finish this…and then," she added, voice low, intimate, letting the weight of her earlier promise return, "we'll finish where we left off."

Shade slid forward, fluid and deliberate, anticipating the target's next step. Her eyes flicked to Cassian with a brief, almost imperceptible nod — a silent confirmation, a tether of trust that only they shared.

"Right flank," she whispered, voice low, deliberate, threading through the chaos. "I'll cut him off. Keep with me."

Her movements were elegant, almost unreal in their control, each step measured to guide him without slowing the pursuit. Beneath every calculated shift, every glance toward him carried the echo of their earlier stolen moments—the pulse of warmth, trust, and the unspoken vow that they were in this together.

"Eyes on him. Nothing else," she murmured again, tying the intimacy of their bond to the lethal efficiency she now displayed, even as the target surged ahead.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade​

A half-smile ghosted across his lips, quick and quiet even as his focus stayed locked on the fleeing figure. "Noted." he murmured back. "But if I hadn't, you'd be patching me up instead."

Their gazes met for just a flicker in the chaos enough to spark that same dangerous warmth from before, hidden under urgency. Then she was moving again, cutting across the ballroom with lethal precision.

The air between them pulsed discipline and something far more fragile woven into one seamless rhythm. Cassian's breath synced with hers as they closed in, two halves of a single motion.

"Always with you." he muttered, the words nearly lost in the chaos

And when their quarry stumbled against the balcony doors, Cassian saw the faint reflection of Shade's eyes, steady, burning, alive. Whatever came next, they would meet it together. Not as cover, not as façade.

Cassian closed the distance in seconds, his stride precise, deliberate the calm before the collision. The traitor turned sharply near the mezzanine stairwell, desperation flashing in his eyes as he raised his blaster again. Cassian didn't slow.

A twist. A shift. The shot went wide.

He hit the man hard, shoulder driving into his center mass with a force that sent them both crashing against the marble railing. The impact reverberated through Cassian's frame, but he was already moving, using the momentum to twist the blaster free from the traitor's hand. It clattered across the floor, out of reach.

The traitor fought back with surprising speed, landing a sharp strike to Cassian's ribs. Pain flared, but Cassian absorbed it, his breath steady, focus narrowing to the rhythm of combat. Every movement was efficient, practiced a soldier's precision honed over years of battle and discipline.

 

[Shade]

Shade's eyes tracked every movement of the traitor, every pivot of Cassian's body, each calculation precise and fluid. Relief still lingered from the moment he took the shot for her, and that surge of awareness drove her every motion—guarding, anticipating, moving as a single unit with him.

"Watch the left!" she hissed under her breath, stepping in to cut off the escape route, her body coiled but graceful, every movement measured to intersect with Cassian's rhythm.

Her gaze flicked to him for just a heartbeat, catching that half-smile—a flash of warmth threading through the chaos, grounding her.

"Always with me," she whispered back, voice low, intimate, letting him know she felt it, even amid the chase, even amid the strikes and dodges.

The traitor stumbled, and Shade mirrored Cassian's approach, closing in from the opposite side, shadowing his motion, lethal and precise. Her eyes locked on both him and the target, her body a perfect extension of their shared trust and timing.

"Step right. On my mark," she murmured, letting the words tether their motion, keeping them in sync as he drove into the traitor and twisted the blaster free.

Every strike, every evasive movement she made was guided by him, by the pulse of his presence beside her—the rhythm of their bond overlaid onto the brutal, practiced efficiency of their attack. Even in the fight, the memory of their stolen moments lingered, subtle and unspoken, threading warmth through the edge of danger.

Shade moved before thought completed in anyone else—a measured step, fingers closing on the fallen blaster as it skittered across the marble. Her palm was steady on cold metal; she flipped the safety with a practiced thumb, listening to the near-silent click that told her it was live.

Cassian's shoulder still pressed against the traitor as he struggled; she let him hold the line. She set the setting to stun—a soft, precise motion—and tested the trigger with the lightest pressure, feeling the tiny recoil through the grip. Relief hummed underneath everything: he was breathing, still fighting.

She drew a breath, aimed just past Cassian's shoulder, and calculated to knock the traitor unconscious without risking harm.

"Hold him," she murmured once, low and sure—not a question, an instruction, and a promise.

The blaster fired in a clean, controlled arc. The stun bolt struck true; the traitor's body went slack where it stood, collapsing against the railing. Shade released the trigger, letting the echo fade. She held the blaster at her side, palm resting lightly on the grip, senses still alert, movements fluid, eyes flicking to Cassian.

Even through the chaos, the pulse of their earlier moment lingered. Her mind, for the briefest second, questioned where this—they—were heading. Not aloud, not yet. Just behind every measured breath and every precise movement, a silent question, threaded through the chaos: what came next for them.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian worked methodically, no theatrics, just the smooth, efficient motions of a man who'd done this more times than he cared to count. He snapped the restraint band around the traitor's wrists, cinching it tight enough to stop any struggle after he woke up, but not so tight it would leave marks. The man's breathing was steady, the stun taking its full effects against him. Cassian hoped he would have something on Graham Deras, if he did then their missions would get much more intricate.


Cassian rose, toggled his comm. The channel clicked alive in his ear: the soft, familiar static of Republic frequencies. His voice came low and controlled, authority threaded through every syllable.

"Abrantes to Intelligence HQ. Target secured, one subject restrained and non-lethal. Request immediate extraction, Gala rooftop. Confirm copy."

He paused only long enough to meet Shade's gaze, an unspoken exchange of acknowledgement, of shared exhaustion and something like relief then added, quieter, for the channel and for the room. "Extraction assets acknowledged en route. Hold position; maintain perimeter until they arrive."


There was a crackle, a curt affirmative through the comms, and then a dry, efficient confirmation: an extraction team was diverting from a nearby rendezvous and would be on-site within minutes. Cassian let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and leaned down.

His hand moved to his side, as he took a labored breath for a brief moment but then it passed.

"The extraction team will be here soon, then we have a lot to talk about."

 

[Shade]

Shade watched him work—precise, efficient, the restraint band a neat, silent conclusion. When Cassian straightened and opened comms, she noted the tightness around his shoulder again, the small wince he hid beneath professional steadiness.

She stepped closer, close enough that her voice was only for him.

"Are you all right?" she asked, quiet and direct, the question carrying more than concern—a tether back to the moment before, to the bolt that had found him.

He said they had much to talk about. She let that land, then answered in the same measured cadence that always steadied them both.

"We do."

Her gaze slid to the stunned man at their feet and then up to the mezzanine, picturing the rooftop route. Practicality returned like a blade.

"Do you need my help getting him to the pickup? I'll take point on the path—quieter exits, less foot traffic. You cover extraction."

She kept her tone soft but crisp, an offer and a plan wrapped into one. Her hand rested briefly at her side near the blaster she still held, not touching him, simply a promise of readiness.

"Tell me where, and I'll move him. Then we talk."

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian kept his movements economical as they threaded the quieter corridors toward the service exit. The traitor sagged between them, more stunned than injured, wrists still bound; Cassian kept a steadying hand at the man’s shoulder while Shade took the lead, her steps silent and sure. He felt the dull throb along his ribs with every pivot, a reminder of the close-quarters fight, but he let none of it show. There were faces to protect and answers to collect first.

They climbed a narrow service stair that led to the roof, less traffic, fewer curious eyes. The night air hit them like a slow rinse of cold; city lights spread beneath, indifferent and golden. Up here, the ballroom’s music was a distant heartbeat. The extraction shuttle hung low, rotors stirring the rooftops and the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Abrantes.” he said into his comm as the shuttle’s ramp hissed down. “Package is secure. Sending him up. We’re coming with you.” His voice was flat, precise, the same cadence he used when briefing troops. The confirmation came quickly and efficiently; they had a slot on the manifest, an escort into the forward operating base. No unnecessary chatter. No ceremony.

When the shuttle took the traitor on board, Cassian performed the inventory: restraints checked, med-readings requested, comms secured. He watched the man’s face for any flicker of deceit. There was none, only the small, defeated clarity of someone who’d been caught.

The forward operating base met them with the practiced efficiency of a machine. Security sweeps, med personnel waiting with portable diagnostic rigs, an intelligence contingent already queuing for the handover. Cassian walked the man down the ramp and into the wash of austere lights, reporting crisply to the officer at the intake.

“Subject secured.” he said. “Non-lethal engagement. Suspect stunned and restrained. Evidence logged. Requesting interrogation team and medical clearance for further processing.”

Med techs moved in, lights and scanners painting the traitor’s face in clinical blue. Cassian allowed himself the smallest of exhalations, the kind that lived behind the jaw and under command.

They turned back toward the intake room together, partners first, whatever waited beyond that moment, and Cassian let the compartmentalized discipline fall back into place. The mission was secured. The man was in their hands. The rest would come, in files and interrogation rooms and later, perhaps, in the quiet they’d stolen up on the roof. For now, Cassian kept his face steady and his steps measured.

For know, the job was done.

 

[Shade]

The med-tech's scanner passed once more over the dark panel of Cassian's jacket—a thin hum, a clinical blue wash of light—before the readout finalized: severe contusion, no fracture, no penetration. Armor plating had taken the brunt, leaving only a bruise that would linger.

"You'll be tender for a few days," the medic confirmed, already closing the kit. "Rest and anti-inflammatories. You're cleared."

Cassian gave a short nod—acceptance without indulgence.

Shade had not moved from his side. She watched the medic go before her gaze returned to the point where the bolt had struck him, her jaw tight, the air around her sharpened by everything she didn't say.

"You hid the pain well." Not accusation. Not concern. Truth spoken with quiet precision. "But you took that shot for me. Thank you." She owed him her life and would repay that debt someday.

Her hand found the underside of his forearm—brief, controlled contact, but enough to anchor him in the moment, enough to say don't you dare retreat behind protocol.

"We accomplished the objective," she continued, voice low. "Now we face the consequences."

When the medic's footsteps faded, Shade finally stepped forward, falling into stride beside him as they left the exam bay. Her posture reset to composed professional, but her eyes still tracked him—confirming for herself what the scan had already proven.

"Good." Barely above a breath. Not simple relief. Something deeper. Warmer.

They walked through the stark corridor, lights overhead casting long shadows that stretched ahead like the path they'd chosen together. Shade's fingers brushed the grip of the blaster at her side—habit, instinct, readiness she couldn't turn off even here.

She looked to him again, gaze steady, intention unmistakable:

"We will talk."

A certainty—as unmovable as bedrock.

Her eyes held his for a heartbeat longer, letting him feel the weight and promise of her presence.

Then she turned forward once more, steps sure as she led them toward the debrief rooms—toward the answers they could no longer delay. And beneath the discipline, beneath the silence—the vow remained: She was still here.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian walked beside her, the echo of their steps the only sound filling the sterile hallway. The med-tech's scan had left a faint warmth on his skin, the ache in his side pulsing with each movement, manageable, contained. He'd endured worse. But the way Shade's gaze lingered, tracing the mark even after it was confirmed harmless, felt heavier than any wound.

He didn't look at her right away. It was easier to stay in motion to let discipline hold the line between what was said and what wasn't.

Yet her words cut through the quiet.

You took that shot for me.

He drew in a slow breath, the kind that steadied the voice before command briefings. "You'd have done the same." he said, but his tone carried no deflection, only truth. He knew her well enough to know it wasn't gallantry; it was instinct. The kind that didn't need explanation.

The brush of her hand against his forearm stopped him, not long, not forceful, but enough. Enough to draw his attention, enough that his composure slipped for a fraction of a second. He met her eyes, saw the reflection of light and exhaustion there, and felt something tighten in his chest that had nothing to do with injury.

"I'm fine." Cassian murmured. "We did what we came for."

He paused, voice dropping lower. "And you're here. That's what matters."

Cassian paused mid-stride, the rhythm of boots against durasteel falling silent beneath the hum of the base. The harsh white light of the corridor washed across them, revealing the faint smudge of dust still clinging to Shade's shoulder, the flicker of restrained emotion in her eyes. She had said 'we will talk' measured, resolute, but there was more in her gaze than protocol or debriefs could contain.

He stopped just behind her. For a breath, neither spoke. The air between them was taut, alive with everything that had built, all the words that had been buried under command and circumstance. Cassian reached out, his hand closing lightly around her wrist. The touch was deliberate, unhurried, pulling her gently back to face him.

Cassian stepped forward and closed the distance, one hand lifting to her jaw, thumb brushing the line of her cheek where the tension lived. Then he kissed her.

It wasn't reckless, nor impulsive; it was quiet, grounding, the culmination of too many moments spent on the edge of this one. Her lips met his with the same precision she carried into battle, but there was heat beneath it, a pulse of something neither of them could control. The hum of the lights overhead seemed to fade until there was only the sound of breath, the faint echo of heartbeats in sync.

When he finally drew back, he didn't step away entirely. His forehead rested against hers, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"Then let's talk, what's on your mind." he murmured, the words carrying the weight of promise and inevitability.

 

[Shade]

Shade didn't flinch when he stopped her—but she felt it. The shift in the air, the command in his silence. His hand around her wrist drew her back with a pull she didn't resist. And when he kissed her, she answered without hesitation, fingers curling lightly into the fabric at his shoulder—not to hold herself up, but to hold him there long enough to confirm he was real. Alive. Her composure didn't break; it simply bent toward him, drawn to the rare place where safety and danger blurred into the same person.

When his forehead rested against hers, the world narrowed to the quiet exchange of breath between them. The faint sterile hum of lights overhead faded beneath the gravity of what they had just crossed into.

"What is on my mind," she murmured, voice low and threaded with warmth she didn't bother to hide, "is that you put yourself between me and a blaster bolt without a thought." She would have done the same thing. Her thumb brushed the sharp line of his jaw, grounding her following words as they formed. "I am not accustomed to feeling…" — a breath, a hesitation she rarely allowed — "…anything, when someone bleeds for me."

Yet here he stood. And she felt too much.

Her hand drifted to the place where armor hid the forming bruise. "But you…" A quiet exhale softened the edges of the truth. "You have become…more." The admission shifted the air again—sharper, more delicate—and she met his gaze fully, unguarded for the first time.

"So do not say you are fine just to ease my mind," she told him, not pleading but commanding the truth. "Because your life is not expendable to me."

She didn't step back—not from him. But the truth inside her cracked open wider, spilling into the space between them. "You make me forget what our uniforms mean." Her fingers tightened slightly in his jacket, not to restrain him, but to hold on to the moment before duty tried to reclaim it.

"I am trained to detach. To cut away anything that could compromise a mission." A faint smile ghosted across her lips—tired, too honest. "But you…are not something I can cut away."

Every betrayal, every loss flickered in the shadows of her expression—the reason she wore her armor beneath her skin. "If they question this…us…I will be told to choose." The word tasted like a knife. Her voice lowered further, barely a breath. "I could walk away from this position." Too easy. Too costly. "Or you remain my superior officer…and we pretend nothing changes."

Both paths demanded sacrifices she wasn't sure she could make.

She set her hand against his chest, directly over his heartbeat—the truth she wasn't trained to fight. "I want to stand beside you without asking which part of me must die for it." Her gaze searched his, desperate not for reassurance but for direction. "Tell me how we do this without destroying what we are—as soldiers…or as whatever we have just become."

Shade didn't retreat. She gave him something she had never given anyone: the chance to break her walls…or break her.

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian listened in silence, every word she spoke settling somewhere deep beneath the armor of command he’d worn for years. Her honesty struck harder than any wound unflinching, deliberate, the kind of truth that stripped away every layer of discipline he thought he could hide behind. He could see it in her eyes, the calculation that always lived there giving way to something rawer. She was waiting, for him to answer, to decide what came next.

He lifted a hand, fingers brushing hers where they rested against his chest. The beat beneath her palm was steady, grounding. “You won’t have to give anything up.” he said quietly, his voice low but sure, carrying that rare certainty that came only when he meant every word. “Not your post. Not this mission. Not me.”

His gaze held hers, steady, unwavering, as his thumb traced the back of her hand, the gesture a silent promise as much as the words were. “We finish the missions together. We are stronger because of it.” he continued, his tone taking on the rhythm of a vow. “We see it through, all the way to the end. Then… it’s just us.”

He stepped closer, closing the breath of distance that still remained. “No uniforms. No titles. No orders hanging over us.” His voice softened further, almost a whisper now. “Just you and me, Shade. Wherever that takes us.”

Her expression shifted, something unreadable, almost disbelief flickering before the steel in her gaze steadied again. Cassian let his hand fall to her waist, not possessive, but grounding, a silent assurance that he meant what he said. “We’ve both lost too much in this life.” he murmured. “But not this. Not each other.”

It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was the start of something grounding, genuine, true, calming.

His words weren’t a promise of ease, only of resolve. But in Cassian’s eyes, there was something unshakable: conviction, loyalty, and a tenderness he could never quite hide when it came to her.

"Is that okay?"