Chapter 4

Sienna could not breathe.

The arms around her were Cassian's arms, or near enough that grief refused to acknowledge the difference.

His chest pressed warmly against her back, his breath stirring the loose strands of hair beside her ear, while one hand covered hers with the same long fingers she had watched turn thousands of pages, correct Lucien's childhood lessons and trace absent patterns over her skin during nights neither of them had ever spoken about afterward.

But Cassian had never held her like this.

There had always been restraint in him, even in passion. He had touched her as…