The first thing Evie learned after accidentally spending a night inside NOCTURNE’s safehouse was this:

Nobody in the building slept like a normal person.

Kane slept on couches like he’d lost visitation rights to his own bedroom.

Luca slept with music playing through military-grade headphones.

Dominic apparently slept in two-hour intervals “for tactical efficiency,” which sounded suspiciously like untreated psychological damage with branding.

And Cassian?

Cassian barely seemed to sleep at all.

Which was starting to feel less “mysterious mercenary” and more “haunted Victorian widower.”

Evie discovered this at 2:43 in the morning.

She wandered into the kitchen looking for water and found Cassian sitting alone in the dark.

No lights.

No phone.

No movement.

Just black clothes, black gloves, and a cup of coffee sitting untouched beside him.

Evie stopped in the doorway.

“…You know lamps exist, right?”

Cassian looked up slowly.

Grey eyes.

Blank expression.

Still wearing gloves.

Always the gloves.

Evie walked toward the fridge.

“Seriously, do you sleep in those things too?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him over the refrigerator door.

“That’s insane.”

“No.”

“It absolutely is.”

Cassian took another sip of coffee.

No reaction.

No expression.

Honestly impressive commitment to the bit.

Evie grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter.

Rain blurred the city lights outside the reinforced windows. Somewhere deeper in the building, pipes rattled softly.

The safehouse felt quieter tonight.

Still weird.

Still full of armed emotional problems.

But quieter.

Evie narrowed her eyes at him.

“You know what your issue is?”

“No.”

“You’re overcommitted to the whole mysterious assassin aesthetic.”

Silence.

“The black clothes. The dark kitchen. The ‘I haven’t smiled since the Cold War’ energy.”

“I participate in society.”

Evie looked around the pitch-black room.

“At two in the morning. In tactical gear. Like Batman after a custody battle.”

Something shifted near the corner of his mouth.

Tiny movement.

Gone immediately.

Evie pointed at him.

“There. That.”

“What.”

“That almost-human facial expression.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Oh my God, you deny emotions professionally.”

Cassian said nothing.

But he stayed.

That part was becoming noticeable.

Evie twisted the cap off the water bottle.

“So what’s the deal with the gloves?”

“No deal.”

“That sounded fake.”

Silence.

She pointed at his hands.

“You wear them constantly. Is this a murder thing?”

“No.”

“Germophobia?”

“No.”

“Secret tattoos?”

Cassian looked at her.

Evie gasped dramatically.

“Oh my God. You totally have tattoos.”

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

Another tiny almost-smile appeared for half a second.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Evie pushed off the counter and wandered closer.

“Okay, now I care.” She dropped into the chair across from him. “Are your hands horribly scarred? Is this tragic-backstory behavior? Did you lose a fight with a cactus?”

“No.”

“Wow. You really hate elaboration.”

Cassian’s eyes dropped briefly toward the water bottle in her hand.

“You should drink more than that.”

Evie blinked.

“…What?”

“You’ve had one bottle today.”

Silence.

Then she narrowed her eyes slowly.

“Are you monitoring my hydration?”

“No.”

“You answered too fast.”

Cassian took another sip of coffee.

Avoiding the question.

Interesting again.

Evie leaned forward.

“That’s deeply concerning behavior.”

“You had a headache earlier.”

“That does not help your defense, Ghost.”

For the first time all night, Cassian looked faintly irritated.

Not angry.

Just caught.

Evie sat back in the chair slowly.

“Oh my God.”

Cassian already looked tired.

“You’re one of those terrifyingly observant people.”

Silence.

“You know exactly how many hours everybody sleeps, don’t you?”

No answer.

“You memorize exits in restaurants.”

Nothing.

“You psychologically profile strangers for fun.”

Still nothing.

Evie pointed accusingly.

“You’d survive a zombie apocalypse in, like, forty minutes.”

Cassian finally answered.

“Three weeks.”

Evie stared at him.

“…You said that way too confidently.”

A pause.

Then:

“You wouldn’t survive one day.”

Evie looked offended immediately.

“Rude.”

“You’d try to pet something infected.”

“That is absolutely false.”

“You tried to pet Kane’s attack dog yesterday.”

“He looked emotionally available.”

“He bit you.”

“He was confused.”

Cassian looked down at his coffee.

And for one brief second—

his shoulders moved.

Barely.

Like he was trying not to laugh.

Evie noticed instantly.

Oh, that was dangerous.

Not the almost-laugh.

The fact that she suddenly wanted to hear an actual one.

Which felt like the beginning of several catastrophic decisions.

Eventually she stood and stretched.

“Well,” she sighed, “I’m going back to sleep before your weird Batman energy infects me spiritually.”

Cassian gave one small nod.

Evie started toward the hallway.

Then stopped.

Turned back.

“You know,” she said casually, “if you ever take the gloves off, nobody’s probably gonna explode.”

Cassian didn’t answer.

Evie smirked faintly.

“Goodnight, Ghost.”

“Goodnight, Evie.”

She disappeared down the hallway.

The kitchen went quiet again.

Rain tapped softly against reinforced glass.

Cassian stayed motionless at the table for a long time.

Then slowly looked down at his hands.

Black gloves.

Tight seams.

Worn leather.

Habit.

Carefully, he pulled one glove off.

Skin appeared inch by inch beneath the dim kitchen light.

Scars crossed his knuckles.

Old burns near the wrist.

White lines cut through skin that had healed badly years ago.

Cassian stared at the uncovered hand.

Still.

Then flexed his fingers once.

The movement looked unfamiliar.

Like the hand belonged to somebody else.

Eventually he stood and walked toward the elevator.

Inside, mirrored walls reflected him from every angle.

Black clothes.

Tired eyes.

One bare hand hanging stiffly at his side.

Cassian looked at the reflection briefly.

Then at the scars again.

His hand flexed once more before he stopped it.

The elevator doors opened.

He pulled the glove back on immediately.