Section 5: Behavior and Expectations
The Submissive agrees to the following rules of conduct:
Public Behavior:
- The Submissive will maintain an aura of respect and modesty when in public with the Dominant.
- Public displays of submission will remain subtle but present (such as addressing the Dominant respectfully or following instructions).
- The Submissive will refer to the Dominant as "Sir" or "Mister."
- The Submissive will remain within arm's reach of the Dominant at all times unless given explicit permission to wander.
- Unless instructed otherwise, the Submissive will assume Position 1 beside the Dominant when the Dominant sits. The Submissive will not sit, stand, or walk unless instructed by the Dominant.
- Unless instructed otherwise, the Submissive will assume Position 3 and remain within three steps behind the Dominant when the Dominant is standing and/or interacting with others.
- Eye and physical contact with the Dominant are strictly prohibited unless initiated by the Dominant.
- The Submissive is not to engage with others in conversation or physical interaction without explicit permission from the Dominant. All interactions with third parties will be conducted under the Dominant's supervision and approval.
- The Submissive is expected to follow the Dominant's commands promptly and without hesitation.
- The Submissive will refrain from engaging in behaviors that undermine or challenge the Dominant's authority in any public setting. This includes addressing others or disobeying commands without permission.
Punishment:
If correction is necessary, it will be administered at the Dominant's discretion.
Cass's thoughts whirled as Uriel's fingers curled possessively around her wrist, pulling her down the hallway. She was still reeling from the rawness of the scene in the playroom, her body humming with unfulfilled need, her muscles aching from the exertion of remaining still while he had his way with her. It was easy to forget she had problems when Uriel-fucking-Serpov had his fingers between her legs but the sharpness of her anxiety returned as they neared the party.
Her heart pounded, her pulse racing as the sounds of the drifting out of the living room grew louder. The low hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations floated from the room to her ears. The scent of blood, alcohol, and supernatural beings saturated the air, making her hyper-aware of her surroundings. It was supposed to be just a small housewarming—a gathering of Uriel's friends—but to Cass, it felt like walking into the lion's den.
Was this a test?
Uriel hadn't said anything about how she was expected to behave at this party, and the lack of clear instruction had her nerves on edge. The contract's rules for public behavior were clear but the lines were blurred. Was this the same kind of public setting it referred to? This wasn't a BDSM event, or some private gathering of doms and subs. It was just a party. What was she supposed to do? Was she here as his submissive or as his guest? Did he expect her to follow the strict rules laid out in the contract, or was she allowed to socialize freely?
Her pulse spiked as she considered the implications of following him like a shadow all night, bowing her head, staying within arm's reach, kneeling when he sat. Would everyone else know what she was? Would they notice? Would they judge her? Worse still—could they sense her arousal? The slick warmth between her legs was a reminder of how thoroughly Uriel had teased her, and the dampness clinging to her thighs made her hyper-aware of every step. She was still so wet that she feared she'd drip all over the ground. She hadn't been given time to clean up, hadn't been allowed to regain her composure. And Uriel? Uriel didn't seem to care. He was going to leave her like this. Exposed. On display.
He enjoyed this, there was no other explanation. He was just that kind of sadist. The mental torture, the uncertainty— it thrilled him as much as physically controlling her. That much was clear from the smirk he'd worn after pulling his fingers away and the way he hadn't even told her if she was to behave as his submissive at the party.
He never taught her Position 3.
She'd wondered if this was just another layer of his control but the answer was clear. Yes, it was.
Cass's stomach twisted as they reached the wide entrance to the living room. Uriel released her hand, his fingers brushing her wrist before he let go. The sudden lack of his touch left her feeling untethered, and her nerves spiked again as she took in the room before them. It was spacious, with high ceilings and elegant decor, filled with people—supernaturals of all kinds. Vampires with their glasses of what she could only assume was blood. A few beta wolves were laughing loudly near the fireplace while an alpha stood back with a slightly embarrassed, pained expression. A fae—light on his feet—plucked a flute of champagne from a passing human server, his expression serene.
Soft music played from a distant corner, its notes muffled by the hum of conversation. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the room, their light reflecting off the polished floors. The air was thick with the mingled scents of expensive cologne, blood, and power—a heady mixture that made Cass's stomach twist.
Uriel casually pulled a small cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands, methodically cleaning them and the sweet scent of strawberries reached her nostrils…
'Wait a minute… is that… a wet wipe?'
Cass let out a disgruntled sound. It was just like him to keep his hands clean while he left her hot, bothered and dirty with her own essence.
Uriel's gaze flitted to her and her breath hitched as she dropped her gaze to the floor. Better safe than sorry. His gaze remained on her, steady, heated. Cass didn't dare look up, the rules were clear; failure to comply would result in punishment at the discretion of the Dominant. She couldn't tell which was worse; submitting to him in public or getting punished in public but, if she had to do the former to avoid the latter, she would. Public humiliation was a hard limit for her but she wouldn't put it past him to find more creative ways to make her evening a mini-Asura's hell.
"Cassandra…" Uriel started to say but, before he could complete the sentence, a young man barreled towards them, his expression tight with worry.
"Boss," he said breathlessly, his gaze flickering between Uriel and Cass. "Where have you been?"
Cass couldn't see him, she wouldn't risk looking up, but she could hear the smirk in Uriel's voice. "Busy," he replied simply. Then, "I went to welcome my guest." He gestured toward Cass, his hand brushing her back in a subtle, possessive touch. "Arian, meet Cassandra Pratt. Cassandra, this is Arian Draven."
Cass hesitated for a second before she lifted her gaze, recognizing the introduction as implicit permission. She met Arian's sharp, angry eyes and gave a careful nod. "It's nice to meet you," she said, her voice soft but steady.
Arian was dressed comfortably in a white polo-shirt and black slacks and Cass couldn't help herself. She allowed her senses to flare, long enough to catch the stench of vampire and something entirely different on the kid. Human?
She forced her facial features not to display how shocked she was. Dhampir! Arian was a dhampir. 'But… that's impossible,' she thought. Dhampirs were forbidden creatures. So much so hated by vampires that they would be killed before they even had their first blood. That was what she'd heard growing up. But, standing face to face with Arian, it was clear that the adults around her had been wrong or she'd been so isolated from supernatural society that they'd all moved on without her.
Bile rose up to the back of her throat at the thought and she bit down on her lower lip and swallowed hard in hopes that the lump in her throat would not feel as painful as it did.
Arian's brow quirked as he offered a tight smile in return, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his gaze. "Pleasure." His eyes flicked to Uriel again, seeking reassurance or instruction—Cass couldn't quite tell which. "Everyone's been asking for you."
Uriel hummed a curious tune. "Of course they have. How do things look?"
"Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," Arian said, walking alongside Uriel as they moved deeper into the room. "But it's not like they can stop talking about the recent attack."
Recent attack? Cass's ears perked up at the words and her mind sparked with curiosity. She followed carefully, making sure to remain in Uriel's orbit and she kept silent, her gaze darting to him for some hint of a reaction. His brow didn't do much as twitch.
"Is that so?" Uriel asked, he tone bored.
Arian nodded. "They're saying it was bad."
"An overreaction," Uriel deadpanned. "What else?"
Arian paused as he considered the question then perked up again. "Maeve has been looking for you…" Then, "Oh, and Viktor… well, Viktor's being his usual self. A bastard as always."
Uriel chuckled under his breath. "How about you tell me something I don't know."
As if on cue, Arian's lips twitched into a faint smile as he spotted someone approaching. "Speak of the devil."
Cass turned her gaze forward just in time to see a tall figure stride toward them with a dark, predatory grace. The man was cold, brooding— somewhat like the blue of the suit jacket he had on— and every bit as imposing as Uriel. His sharp, angular features were framed by jet-black hair, and his eyes gleamed with a quiet menace that made Cass instinctively shift closer to Uriel.
"Uriel," Viktor greeted, his voice smooth but laced with thinly veiled disdain. "I thought you'd gone missing in your own house."
Uriel smirked, his tone casual. "You'd be happy to hear that, wouldn't you?"
Viktor chuckled, a tight huff of breath, the kind of laugh that carried no real amusement. "You know me too well."
The tension between them was palpable, but they kept it civil—barely. It reminded Cass of what it felt like to stand between Uriel and Jamee only this Jamee was infinitely more vicious than the actual one was.
Viktor's gaze slid over to Cass, his eyes gleaming with a hungry interest that made her skin crawl. His smile widened as his eyes traced her up and down, and Cass fought the urge to shift uncomfortably.
"And who might this gorgeous lady be?" Viktor asked, his voice low, almost purring.
Uriel stepped forward, his broad frame blocking Viktor's view of her. "This is Cassandra," he said, his voice a quiet warning. "My guest."
"Your special guest?" Viktor pressed, his smile sharpening into something more pointed.
Uriel's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Watch it, Viktor."
Viktor chuckled again, raising his hands in mock surrender. "What? I was just asking. It's not like Uriel Serpov has ever been one to be tied down to anything. I was simply checking."
Cass's stomach tightened at the words. What exactly did Viktor mean by that? What was he implying?
She glanced at Uriel, watching the muscles in his jaw work as he reeled in his annoyance. He opened his mouth to say something Cass was sure was far from nice but, before the words could come, the sharp click of heels approached them, and a woman with silver hair stormed over, her expression one of mock outrage.
"Uriel!" the woman exclaimed. "Where the fuck have you been?"
Uriel chuckled, the tension between him and Viktor dissolving as he turned his attention to the newcomer. "I'm allowed to move around my own house, Maeve."
The woman— Maeve— huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You disappeared. And quite frankly, I don't know what possessed you to move to this ghost town."
Cass bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to say that a population of over 800 hardly made Havenfield a ghost town.
"Maeve…" Uriel said, exasperated.
That's when Maeve's eyes landed on Cass and she blinked, her violet eyes sparkling with curiosity, before her lips spread into a wide, friendly smile.
"Oh, hello! And who might you be?"
Cass's gaze flicked over to Uriel, silently waiting for his permission to speak.
Uriel glanced down at her, then back at Maeve. "Maeve, meet Cassandra Pratt. Cassandra, this is Maeve Silvara, counselor to the Fae Queen, fashion enthusiast, and a general pain in my behind."
"Hey!" Maeve protested, slapping Uriel's chest playfully before turning to Cass, her smile softening. "Cassandra! Pleasure to meet you."
Cass nodded, her voice polite but careful. "Likewise."
Maeve's attention quickly shifted back to Uriel as she resumed her scolding. "You should've stayed in the city. This place is so… dull."
Viktor chuckled darkly. "Oh, I'm sure Uriel has his reasons."
"His reasons are dumb," Maeve decided with a firm nod.
Cass could hardly believe this woman was any sort of counselor, not to talk of being one to any sort of royalty. In her mini, bubblegum pink tutu dress and with her bubbly, loud personality, she seemed more like someone's annoying younger sister.
"My reasons may be dumb but they are mine," Uriel replied.
Maeve's brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Uriel smirked but didn't elaborate.
"No need to be so annoyed, Maeve, Uriel will visit when he can," another voice chimed in.
They all turned in the direction of the sound and Cass did her best to look like she was not looking. A tall, muscular man strode casually to the group, standing out even more in the well-dressed crowd. He was taller than Uriel and visibly more swole, his muscles rippling under the white undershirt he had beneath a long sleeved mint green button-up. He was holding a drink in his hand, his expression as stoic as ever.
"Nice party, Uriel," He said, his voice deep and calm.
Uriel raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So why do you sound so miserable, Thorne?"
Maeve chuckled, leaning toward Thorne with a teasing smile. "Thorne is just salty I beat him in a race earlier."
Thorne shot her a dry look. "A race I didn't know I was involved in."
Maeve stuck her tongue out at him in mock defiance before taking a delicate sip from her champagne flute.
Thorne's sharp green eyes, which had been focused on Maeve, slid over to Cass. His gaze was more curious than aggressive, but his presence still carried the intimidating aura of a predator assessing its surroundings. She didn't even need to use her powers to know what he was. Werepanther. "And you must be Cassandra." His voice was calm, direct, but there was a hidden sharpness behind it.
Cass hesitated, glancing briefly at Uriel for a cue. Uriel gave a subtle nod, granting her permission.
"Yes," Cass said, her voice steady but cautious. "Have we met before?"
Thorne's smile was so tiny it was practically imperceptible. "No. But Maeve forgets to use her inside voice sometimes."
"Stoooop," Maeve whined, shoving him. But, as expected, her weak shive did nothing to move the mountain of a man.
"I'm telling Sierra," Thorne said.
"Please don't," Maeve pleaded.
Uriel chuckled, Arian rolled his eyes and Viktor sighed like he was tired of their antics. Cass shifted uncomfortably. She was out of place here. That much was obvious. Even if she hadn't spent the past twenty-two years of her life hiding from other supernaturals, her pack had mostly been strictly werewolf only. She rarely ever saw other supernaturals— 'Aetherkin,' she mentally corrected herself, that was the term they used— aside from the occasional guest who came to discuss business with their Alpha. Besides, they all seemed to be good friends and the eyes in the room—though none lingered too long—felt like they were dissecting her, curious about who she was and why she was at Uriel's side.
"Have you all been enjoying yourselves?" Uriel asked, his tone casual, though Cass sensed the subtle shift in his demeanor. The conversation was about to become more than just polite pleasantries.
"Of course," Viktor drawled, his gaze sliding back to Cass before flicking to Uriel with a sly smile. "Though the night has certainly become more… interesting."
A violent shiver went down Cass's spine and she hid further behind Uriel. Arian, always eager to jump into any conversation involving Uriel, chimed in. "There's been plenty of speculation about the recent attack, of course. People can't seem to talk about anything else."
Maeve's expression darkened slightly. "Yes. It's been the talk of the courts as well."
Cass wasn't here to ask questions or involve herself in the politics of Aetherkin but she was curious enough to keep listening.
"Are the Hunters growing more active again?" Thorne asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he exchanged a glance with Uriel.
Uriel's expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a note of quiet authority. "They've always been a threat, but they're growing bolder. It's nothing we can't handle, though."
Cass felt a shiver of unease crawl up her spine. The Hunters—those who sought out Aetherkin to destroy them. Jamee had been trained to be one. They were never a threat when she was in a pack; the pack protected each other. Outside of it, she never thought they'd be a problem to her so much so that she forgot they were a real danger. She lived a perfectly 'human' life so they meant nothing to her. But now, among other Aetherkin, she realized they were a problem. They weren't just stories meant to scare supernaturals into hiding. They were very much real, and they were targeting Aetherkin.
Uriel's hand brushed lightly against her back, his presence grounding her before the tension in the room could fully wrap around her.
"It's more than just an attack, Uriel," Maeve protested. "The Summer Court is pushing for a full-scale offensive against the Hunters. They're done hiding."
Viktor scoffed. "The Summer Court is naïve. You Fae have always been so quick to act without stopping to think. They think they can wage war on Hunters without consequences. If they're not careful, they'll expose us all."
"What did you just say about Fae?" Maeve's eyes narrowed to slits, her tone devoid of its usual bubliness.
Viktor stared her down, unbothered by her fury. "It's the truth."
"Anyways," Thorne said quietly but firmly, stepping between them, "We need to retaliate. Quietly. A few disappearances will send the right message without attracting attention."
"As if a few disappearances would be enough to stop those zealots," Maeve huffed.
"Enough." Uriel didn't yell but his tone was firm. Cass watched, stunned, as silence fell on the group, heavy and suffocating. As if sensing the shift in energy, Uriel's tone lightened. "Enough about that for now. I'll sort it out later. We're here to celebrate."
Cass figured that no one else was thinking it since she was the only one that had no idea what they were talking about but she wanted to ask one question; how would he sort it out?
Viktor smirked but didn't argue, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To celebrations, then."
Maeve and Arian exchanged glances, and even Thorne offered a slight nod. Uriel leaned in slightly toward Cass, his voice low and commanding. "Cassandra."
Cass's body went rigid with attention. His tone alone was enough to make her stomach clench in anticipation.
"Yes, Sir?" she replied quietly, making sure her voice was low enough that only he could hear.
Uriel's hand slid to the small of her back, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin beneath her dress. "Cassandra," he said softly, his voice pitched low enough for her ears alone. "Get me a drink."
Her heart stuttered. The command was so casual, so simple, but the power behind it was palpable. Was this another test? A public show of her submission? The room was full of people. Was she supposed to stand beside him like the contract said? Kneel at his side when he sat?
Cass's mind raced, but Uriel's hand remained on her back, pressing lightly, guiding her. When she didn't move, his grip tightened, just enough to send a message. He'd given her a direct order, she was not to disobey.
She exhaled slowly, her voice stiff with hesitation as she replied, "What would you like, Sir?"
There. She'd said it. Publicly. The word hung between them like a weight. Her pulse roared in her ears, but Uriel's smirk widened, pleased. "Whiskey," he murmured. "Neat."
Cass swallowed and nodded, stepping away from him, her legs shaky as she crossed the room to the bar. She could feel eyes on her, though whether they were truly watching her or if it was just her anxiety, she wasn't sure. Her mind replayed the word—Sir—again and again, each echo more surreal than the last. She was in a room full of supernaturals, surrounded by the powerful and the unknown, and yet her entire focus was on one man. Uriel.
She walked up to the bar and was about to request Uriel's order when a familiar voice greeted her.
"You think you know my brother."
Cass turned to find Lyra leaning casually against the bar, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. She was dressed in a sleek black gown, her raven hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, and her lips were curled in a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Cass wanted to scream. Just her luck.
"Nice to see you again, Lyra," she spat with venom in her tone.
Lyra disregarded her greeting. "I see you playing lovey dovey with him," she said instead. "You think you know him."
"I don't know him," Cass snapped, unwilling to engage in whatever game Lyra was playing.
She didn't know Uriel. She was curious, of course. Her little detective brain couldn't figure him out and that bothered her. But learning about him hadn't been part of their agreement. She would be okay with it, just for now, she would be okay with it.
Lyra smirked, leaning in just enough to make Cass feel the intrusion of her presence. "Of course you don't," she purred, her voice low and teasing. "That's the thing with Uriel. He never lets you see the full picture. Never lets anyone get too close. But don't worry, sweetheart, I'm sure he'll toss you a few crumbs of affection now and then. If you're lucky."
Cass's stomach churned. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat, lodged behind her growing anxiety.
Lyra's gaze flicked over her, as if weighing her worth. "I wonder," she continued, her voice dripping with mock curiosity, "how long it'll be before you're just another pretty little thing in his collection."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Cass's heart was pounding; her body's reaction to Lyra's words and her gaze. And Lyra just kept staring, a satisfied smirk on her lips, like the vampire was peeling back layers of her skin to see what lay underneath.
Before the tension could snap, Uriel's voice cut through the air, smooth and steady. "Is there a problem here?"
Cass's heart skipped as she turned, finding Uriel standing behind them, watching them with his gaze dark and unblinking. There was no outward sign of anger, but the question lingered in the air like a knife poised to strike.
Lyra merely shrugged, offering her brother a sweet, too-innocent smile. "Not at all," she said lightly. "Just a conversation."
Cass quickly lowered her gaze, her stomach knotting as she muttered, "Yeah. No problem."
Uriel's lips tightened almost imperceptibly and Cass realized she'd made two mistakes. She'd lied to him and she omitted his title.
She immediately felt the mistake burn at the back of her throat. She hadn't meant to drop it, but the tension between her and Lyra had distracted her. Uriel's eye never left her, though his expression remained neutral, unreadable.
"You were taking too long," Uriel said softly, though the subtle disappointment threaded through his tone struck like a lash.
Cass's cheeks flushed as she turned back to the bartender. "Whiskey, neat," she requested quickly, her voice a bit too tight. She could feel Uriel's gaze on her even as she received the drink, her fingers trembling slightly as she handed it over to him. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the glass, the brief contact felt like a zap of electricity to her body. Cass bit her lip and bowed her head, the weight of his unspoken reprimand settling over her like a cloud.
"Thank you, Cassandra," Uriel murmured, taking a slow sip from his drink. He paused for a moment, allowing the liquid to linger on his tongue.
"You're welcome," she murmured without thought.
Again, she'd forgotten his title. And again, she hadn't meant to. But the pressure of the room—of everyone's eyes on her—had made her slip. She knew Uriel would notice. He always did. A flush of heat rose to her cheeks, a mix of shame and dread settling in her gut. Would he punish her later? Or would he be more creative—punish her now, in front of everyone?
The look in his eyes was imperceptible as he lowered his glass from his lips. "My friends and I got tired of standing around," he said. "Join us at our table."
It wasn't a request.
Cass forgot about Lyra as she said, "Of course, Sir," and the world only continued to melt around her as she followed Uriel to the table his friends were sitting around. They were involved in a heated debate she couldn't hear because she was hyper focused on watching Uriel sit down. Her stomach knotted.
There was a chair beside him but was she expected to sit or assume position one?
Unless instructed otherwise, the Submissive will assume Position 1 beside the Dominant when the Dominant sits. The Submissive will not sit, stand, or walk unless instructed by the Dominant.
Uriel had not instructed otherwise. He was laughing at something Maeve said and Cass was losing it. Here? Now? In front of all these people?
She hesitated for the briefest moment, uncertainty clouding her mind. Standing behind him was one thing. Fetching him a drink was another. But kneeling beside him in front of everyone… it felt too public, too exposed. Too real.
This was the price of submission. She knew that. There were D/s relationships that only applied when the partners were in a scene but Uriel had made it clear from the beginning that her submission to him wasn't just about what happened in private. It was about control, all the time. Knowing it didn't make it any easier. Kneeling beside him, here, in front of these people—it wasn't just submission. It was humiliation. She was supposed to be strong. Fierce. A werewolf, for God's sake.
And yet, here she was, trembling like a leaf, torn between the need to please him and the weight of her own pride.
If she knelt, she'd be acknowledging that she wasn't the woman she used to be—the one who never bowed to anyone. If she stood, she'd be defying him, blatantly breaking the terms of their agreement. And she couldn't afford that either.
Uriel glanced up at her. His one crimson eye was locked onto her, unyielding but not unkind. He was testing her resolve. His silent authority filled the space between them. His friends were laughing, unaware of the war waging inside her.
The room seemed to grow smaller, the voices of the partygoers fading into the background as her world narrowed to just the two of them. A soft, oppressive weight settled over her chest. 'I can't do this,' Cass thought, her throat tightening. 'Not here. Not like this.'
Everyone was watching. They could see her panicking. See her standing beside an empty seat with shaky legs while everyone was seated. Forget looking like a submissive, she looked like a fool.
Her hands felt cold, clammy, trembling at her sides. Her pulse pounded so loudly in her ears that it drowned out the voices around her. They were all looking. They had to be. Watching her make a fool of herself, watching her hesitate, falter. Her body screamed at her to kneel, to follow the rules, but her pride kept her upright, frozen. To kneel would be to surrender in front of them all. To expose herself in a way she wasn't ready for.
She was supposed to be stronger than this. But standing here, under Uriel's unwavering gaze, with his friends—his powerful, ancient friends—all waiting to see what she would do next, she felt small. Trapped. Pathetic.
She could feel the weight of Uriel's expectations pressing down on her, and her chest tightened. Flee, her mind screamed. Kneel, her body urged. Sit, her remaining shred of logic pleaded. But all she could do was stand there, teetering on the edge of breaking.
"Cassandra?" Uriel's voice broke through her spiral of panic, but it wasn't sharp. It was careful. Worried. A tether to reality. And yet the simple utterance of her name was enough to push her over the edge.
"I—" she stammered, her voice weak, barely audible.
She couldn't do this. She couldn't kneel beside him in front of everyone. Not here. Not now. What if they saw her as weak, as pathetic? What if this whole room, full of ancient and powerful beings, realized she was beneath them? The knot in her stomach tightened, and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Uriel's crimson gaze was unrelenting. His friends would see her. His rivals would see her. Would they mock her? Or worse—would Uriel be disappointed?
She could feel herself unraveling, her thoughts splintering into a thousand jagged shards. Uriel's gaze might have been on her but she couldn't look at him. That would be another violation of their rules— and she couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his eyes.
She needed air. She needed to get out. "I need to be excused."
Before she could process the decision fully, Cass turned around and ran.