Chapter 30 · The Price of Going Home

Marcus didn't get a chance to lock the door.

Cassian was already through the floorwell, boots hitting the worn planks with a thud that rattled the tin of screws on the workbench. He straightened slow, like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he did. The guy had been through enough loops to know how to move when nobody could stop him.

Marcus took a step back. His hip hit the edge of the bench. The lyre shard was still in his hand, warm enough to burn if he held it wrong. He didn't let go.

"You can't just walk in here," Marcus said.

Cassian smiled. Not the friendly kind. "I've been walking in here for three years. You just didn't notice."

That stopped Marcus cold. Three years. He'd had the shop for five. Rent was late more often than not, and the landlord had stopped answering calls two months ago, but the place was his. Or he thought it was.

"What do you want?"

Cassian tilted his head, eyes tracking the shard in Marcus's hand. "Same thing you want. To go home. Difference is, I know the cost."

"I'm already home."

"No.