The next morning, Iris sat in her room, staring at the sketch she and Cassian had created the night before. It felt like a breakthrough—not just in their bond but in her own understanding of herself. For so long, her silence had felt like a prison, but now it seemed more like armor, slowly being stripped away.
The calm didn't last.
Her phone buzzed with a new notification. Against her better judgment, she opened it, only to see a new post circulating about her brother's death. This time, someone had found an old yearbook photo of him, paired with the caption:
"The real tragedy isn't the art, it's the family secrets they're trying to hide."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Her breathing grew shallow as memories she'd worked so hard to suppress came rushing back—her brother's laughter, his sudden absence, and the whispers that followed.
Before she could spiral further, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Cassian.
Cassian: "I'm picking you up in 15 minutes. Don't argue. We're going on a detour."
***
Cassian arrived right on time, his usual confident smirk replaced by a look of quiet determination. He didn't ask if she was okay—he already knew the answer.
"We're going somewhere that helps me clear my head," he said as they drove. "I think you'll like it."
The car ride was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of Cassian's playlist. He parked near an overgrown hiking trail and led her up a narrow path.
"Almost there," he said, holding a branch aside so she could pass.
When they reached the top, Iris's breath caught. Before them stretched a sprawling meadow, dotted with wildflowers and bathed in golden sunlight. In the distance, a small, weathered cabin stood nestled against a backdrop of rolling hills.
"This was my mom's favorite place," Cassian said, his voice softer now. "She used to bring me here when things got tough. Said it was impossible to feel small when you're standing in the middle of something so big."
Iris nodded, the weight on her chest easing slightly. The openness of the meadow felt like a balm against her churning thoughts.
***
They spent the afternoon in quiet companionship. Cassian pulled out his sketchbook, and after some hesitation, Iris did the same. They sketched in silence, each lost in their own world.
At one point, Cassian glanced over at her drawing—a portrait of her brother, his features blurred at the edges as though fading into the background.
"He was important to you," Cassian said. It wasn't a question.
Iris nodded, her grip tightening on the pencil. She flipped to a blank page and began writing:
He was my anchor. When he died, I lost my voice.
Cassian read the words, his brow furrowing. "It wasn't your fault, Iris."
She looked away, her throat tightening. She couldn't tell him the full story—not yet.
Cassian didn't push. Instead, he said, "You're stronger than you think. And your voice? It's still there. It's in every sketch, every line. You just have to decide when you're ready to let the world hear it."
***
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they made their way back to the car. Cassian hesitated before opening the door.
"I know you're scared," he said, his tone unusually vulnerable. "But you're not alone in this, okay? Whatever comes next, we'll face it together."
Iris met his gaze, her heart pounding. For the first time, she felt the stirrings of something more—something deeper than friendship or even partnership.
She reached for her notebook and wrote: Thank you, Cassian. For everything.
He smiled, his hand brushing against hers as he took the notebook to read. "Always."
***
The chapter ends with Iris sitting in her room that night, staring at the unfinished portrait of her brother. For the first time in years, she picks up a pen and writes a single word beneath it:
"Hope."