Cassian still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Still wasn’t sure if he’d woken up in Nesta Archeron’s bed after she’d kissed him on the roof. He’d been awake for a half hour, and he hadn’t dared move for fear that he’d break whatever illusion this might be.

But it wasn’t an illusion, and it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And he knew it was real because he was going to piss himself, and no one pissed themselves in their dreams—well, children, but he was not a child.

He thought about getting up to relieve himself. Thought about how close the bathroom was, how he could leave the door open, and she’d be able to see and hear him if she woke up.

But Cassian did not want Nesta to wake up in an empty bed. Not again. Not ever again. Sure they’d talked about it, she’d said what she’d needed to say, but that wasn’t a wound that would close overnight. There was no trust between them. He needed to earn her trust.

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