Chapter 54: Worry

CASSIAN

I arrived as the chaos was collapsing into order.

The maintenance annex door was open, security personnel moving in controlled formation, radios crackling with clipped Spanish I barely registered.

The perpetrator was already on the ground, face-down, hands zip-tied behind his back, two officers pinning him in place while a third read him his rights in rapid-fire Castilian.

But I didn’t look at him.

I looked past the wall of bodies, past the tactical team clearing the space, past the discarded weapon now sealed in an evidence bag.

And I saw them.

Noah and Alex.

On the ground.

Too close.

Alex was half-braced over him, one arm extended like he’d just pulled Noah backward, both of them breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Something cold and sharp twisted in my chest.

My feet moved before my brain caught up.

I crossed the distance in seconds, pushing past a security guard who tried to brief me, shouldering through the perimeter Lake’s team had established.

Noah was sitting up now, Alex’s hand still gripping his shoulder, steadying him.

I stepped between them.

Physically.

Deliberately.

Alex looked up, startled, his hand falling away.

I didn’t acknowledge him.

My eyes locked on Noah.

He was pale, smudged with dirt, a red mark blooming on his wrist where something—zip ties, probably—had bitten into the skin.

His eyes were wide, still caught in the adrenaline spiral, pupils blown.

But he was breathing.

He was whole.

“Are you injured.”

My voice came out flat. Clinical.

Not a question. A demand for information.

Noah blinked up at me, mouth opening, then closing.

“I—no. I’m fine. I’m okay.”

I didn’t believe him.

My gaze swept over him again, cataloging every detail. The tremor in his hands. The way he was holding his left side slightly. The faint bruising starting to form on his jaw.

“Stand up.”

He hesitated, then pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly.

Alex moved to steady him.

I caught his wrist mid-reach.

Not hard. Not violent.

But firm enough that he felt it.

“I’ve got him,” I said quietly.

Our eyes met.

Alex’s expression shifted—something between concern and barely concealed irritation.

“He just went through hell, Cassian,” Alex said, voice low, measured. “Maybe give him a second to breathe.”

“I’ll decide what he needs.”

The words came out colder than I intended.

Alex’s jaw tightened, but he stepped back, hands raised slightly in a conciliatory gesture that didn’t reach his eyes.

Behind us, the perpetrator was being hauled to his feet, shouting something incoherent, struggling against the restraints.

Noah turned his head, watching.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Noah asked quietly.

I didn’t look at the man.

I looked at Noah.

“That is not your concern.”

His gaze snapped back to me, something flickering in his expression. Surprise. Hurt, maybe.

I didn’t care.

“Come with me,” I said.

“I should probably give a statement or—”

“Now.”

It wasn’t a request.

Noah’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.

I placed a hand on his lower back—light, guiding—and steered him toward the exit.

As we passed Alex, I stopped.

Just for a second.

“We’ll discuss this later,” I said. “Privately.”

Alex nodded once, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course.”

But his eyes flicked to Noah.

And stayed there a beat too long.

My hand tightened fractionally against Noah’s spine.

Then we were moving again, past the police line, past the gawking staff members who’d gathered at a safe distance, past Luca who looked like he’d been crying.

Into the elevator.

The doors closed.

Silence.

Noah leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily, eyes closed.

I watched him.

Counted his breaths.

Watched the color slowly return to his face.

“Hospital,” I said.

His eyes snapped open. “What? No. I’m fine.”

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Cassian, I don’t need—”

“You were held hostage at knifepoint for twenty minutes. You’re going to the hospital.”

“It wasn’t a knife, it was… I don’t even know what it was… and I’m fine. Really. I just want to go back to the hotel and… ”

“Hospital.”

My tone left no room for negotiation.

Noah stared at me, frustration and exhaustion warring in his expression.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Noted.”

The elevator doors opened into the underground garage.

Lake was waiting by the car, door already open.

I guided Noah inside, sliding in beside him.

The door closed.

The engine started.

We pulled out into the street.

The hospital was private. Discreet. The kind of place where billionaires went when they needed stitches and silence.

I’d called ahead.

A doctor was waiting when we arrived, ushering us into a private examination room with the kind of efficiency that came from being paid extremely well to ask no questions.

Noah sat on the exam table, looking small and uncomfortable under the fluorescent lights.

I stood by the door, arms crossed, watching as the doctor checked him over.

Vitals. Reflexes. Range of motion.

“Any pain here?” the doctor asked, pressing gently against Noah’s ribs.

Noah winced. “A little.”

“Probably bruising from impact. No fractures that I can feel, but we can do an X-ray if—”

“Do it,” I said.

Noah shot me a look. “It’s not necessary.”

“Do it anyway.”

The doctor glanced between us, then nodded. “I’ll have the technician come in.”

She left.

Silence settled over the room.

Noah picked at a thread on his sleeve, not looking at me.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m fine, Cassian.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

I stepped closer, stopping just in front of him.

He looked up, startled.

“You were taken,” I said, voice low. “By a man with a weapon. In my building. On my watch.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“It is.”

The words came out harder than I meant them to.

Noah stared at me, something shifting in his expression.

Before he could respond, the door opened.

The technician appeared, wheeling in a portable X-ray machine.

“This will just take a few minutes,” she said cheerfully.

I stepped back.

Watched as they positioned Noah, took the images, confirmed what we already knew.

No fractures. No internal damage. Just bruises and shock and the kind of trauma that didn’t show up on scans.

“He’s clear,” the doctor said, handing me a printed summary. “Rest, ice if the bruising worsens, and follow up if any symptoms develop.”

I nodded.

We left.

The car ride back to the hotel was silent.

Heavy.

Noah stared out the window, jaw tight, arms wrapped around himself.

I watched him from the corner of my eye.

Watched the way his shoulders were still tense.

The way his hands trembled slightly when he thought I wasn’t looking.

We pulled into the hotel’s private entrance.

Up the elevator.

Into the suite.

Noah walked straight to the center of the living room, then stopped.

Turned.

“How did this happen?” I asked.

My voice was calm. Controlled.

But there was an edge underneath it.

Noah blinked. “What?”

“I want to know,” I said, stepping closer, “how you ended up in that hallway. With that man.”

“I told you. Luca and I were delivering permits and—”

“And you didn’t think to call security when things felt wrong?”

His expression shifted. Defensive now. “It happened too fast.”

“You didn’t think to call me?”

“You were in a meeting!”

“So?”

“So I’m your assistant, Cassian! I’m not supposed to interrupt you every time something—”

“Every time something what?” My voice rose slightly. “Every time your life is in danger?”

Noah flinched.

Then his expression hardened.

“You’re never available anyway,” he shot back. “You’ve made it very clear that unless it’s work-related, I’m supposed to handle things myself.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because they were true.

I had been distant. Cold. Keeping him at arm’s length since the moment we’d arrived.

But I didn’t apologize.

I doubled down.

“That doesn’t give you permission to be reckless.”

“Reckless?!” Noah’s voice cracked. “I was doing my job! I was following your instructions!”

“You should have—”

“What?! What should I have done differently?!”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t have one.

Noah stared at me, breathing hard, eyes bright with anger and something that looked dangerously close to tears.

“You know what?” he said quietly. “I’m done.”

He turned and walked toward his room.

“Noah—”

The door slammed.

Locked.

I stood there.

Alone.

Again.

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out.

A text from Reid.

Reid: Got your information. Family name: Moretti. Based in Barcelona. Arms adjacent, money laundering primary. Not directly Vincenti but worked parallel contracts. Daughter married into a Vincenti subsidiary three years ago, annulled last year. They’re repositioning. Smart move on their part. Address attached.

I stared at the message.

Then at the closed door.

At the silence pressing in from all sides.

The fear I’d been holding back since the moment I saw Noah on that floor started to claw its way up my throat.

I shoved it down.

Turned it into something sharper.

Something I knew how to use.

I texted Lake.

Me: Prepare the car. I’m going out.

Lake: Destination?

Me: The secondary location.

I pocketed my phone.

Grabbed my coat.

And left.

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