Klaus hadn't left his chambers for two days.
He was beyond exhausted, entombed in the disheveled nest of his bed—soaked through with sweat and the metallic scent of blood. The sheets were stained, clinging to his feverish skin like wilted silk, and the air was thick with the weight of something unspoken.
He didn't know why his body was rejecting itself so violently—well, he did know, but that hardly mattered. Memory of the past two days bled together in a feverish haze of vomiting blood, violent tremors, and delirium. Every breath felt like it might be his last.
Cassie sat quietly at his bedside, her fingers red and wrinkled from hours of washing linens, scrubbing away filth, and soaking blood from the fabric. It was a task she'd never imagined herself doing—tending to someone so damaged, so fierce, so him. She had changed his sheets, wiped his body with wet towels, and prepared water when he couldn't lift a hand to drink. It was exhausting, and yet...
He looked so human like this. Not the proud, sharp-tongued monster who had threatened to maim Sunny, but a soul hanging on by a thread.
Effie had mentioned—half-curious, half-mischievous—that Klaus had taken on a woman's form while infiltrating the Red Sect. And though Cassie had dismissed it at first, she found her thoughts drifting.
Klaus... but with softer skin, longer hair... fuller chest...
Her cheeks flushed. She shook her head, scolding herself.
"I'm not a pervert," she muttered under her breath, flustered. "Not like him, saying every vulgar thing that pops into his head."
Still, she hadn't expected Klaus to become that enraged during the confrontation. He had seemed unhinged, untethered—a force of raw and bizarre energy, something not quite mortal. She had felt it in her bones: Klaus's aspect was of divine in rank.
But then, so was Sunny's. And yet… Klaus's grasp of his power was beyond anything she had ever seen. The depth of control, the precision, the brutality—it wasn't just power. It was mastery. He hadn't simply been born with something great. He had conquered it.
She was certain now: if the entire cohort had attacked him that day—even Nephis—they would have failed. Klaus had walked too far ahead of them. He wasn't just strong—he seemed untouchable.
But Sunny was catching up. Slowly. Surely. He just needed more time.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Klaus stirred in bed, a soft groan escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered open—amethyst irises glowing faintly in the dim light. The air trembled. It felt like something was scanning space.
He sat up, running a hand through his tangled hair, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he conjured an old leather bag into his hand, rummaging through it until he found a bottle of aged bourbon. He poured it slowly into a crystal glass, tilting it just so, like one would when pouring fine ale to preserve the foam. He took a long, slow sip.
Cassie observed him silently, her eyes drawn to the carved image of the weeping angel on his back. Something about it made her chest ache.
"Nik," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "We need to talk."
Klaus rolled his eyes, irritation flickering across his face. His tone was flat, sharp-edged with sarcasm.
"Do we, indeed?"
Cassie sighed. Of course. He had to make this difficult.
"You need to understand Sunny. He's… not well. Everything he went through left him damaged. He's anxious, depressed—he lashes out because he's hurting."
Klaus chuckled darkly and downed his drink in one gulp.
"Shit, if I were him, I'd be depressed too."
Cassie stood abruptly and took the glass from his hand. Klaus blinked in surprise, then smiled faintly as she brought the rim to her own lips and took a sip. Her face flushed slightly.
Klaus lifted the bottle with a lazy grin, toasting the air as if to no one in particular—perhaps to himself, perhaps to madness itself. The liquor flowed down his throat in a slow, burning stream, and his body gave a subtle shudder. A flicker of satisfaction played on his lips as he exhaled, eyes half-lidded, basking in the warmth that unfurled in his chest.
Cassie set her glass aside, the quiet clink against the wood barely audible. Neither spoke. Yet the silence was full—pregnant with words they hadn't dared to say, with tension as old as their bond. Their arguments had been many, bitter and fiery, but beneath them all... something endured. Something deeper.
"You really are obsessed with control, huh?" she asked softly, almost teasing, but her voice held a strange note—fondness tangled with frustration.
Klaus raised an eyebrow, reaching for the nearby bucket. He dipped his hands into the cold water, ran it over his face, and slicked his hair back with slow, deliberate fingers. Meeting his own reflection in the mirror, he chuckled under his breath.
"I am," he admitted without a shred of shame. "I love control and power. It's an intoxicating feeling when the world bends to your will."
Cassie studied him for a moment—his stance, the curve of his smile, the faint shadow in his eyes. He looked older than usual, not in years but in weight. Perhaps it was the burden of the past few days, or perhaps he simply didn't try to hide it anymore. She hesitated, then stepped closer, the floor cool beneath her bare feet.
Klaus also noticed that there was something different about her. A quiet composure. Her movements had become more precise, her presence more grounded. She had grown—not in body, but in spirit. Life, after all, was a cruel teacher. It never warned you before the lesson, only left bruises behind for you to decipher.
And some of those bruises... he'd given her himself.
He didn't like that. But she needed them to grow.
Cassie exhaled, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Why did you do that? You could've handled it differently. You could've... resolved it without violence."
Klaus patted his face dry with a towel and draped it around his shoulders, considering her words. His gaze flicked toward her—playful, sharp, unreadable.
"Maybe," he said. "But peace is overrated. Besides..." He leaned against the dresser, tilting his head. "Fear and love don't coexist all that well. And if I have to choose?" He smirked, eyes glinting with wry amusement. "It's always safer to be feared."
Cassie frowned, uncertain whether to be exasperated or amused.
"But you're not just feared."
Klaus laughed quietly. "No," he said. "But fear gets people out of your way. Love... well, love keeps you soft. Makes you hesitate."
He paused, then looked at her more seriously, his tone softening ever so slightly.
"Still. I only ever hesitate for a few people. And you're one of them."
Cassie's breath caught. Not because it was the most romantic thing he could've said—because it wasn't. But because it was honest. From him, that meant more than any poetic promise ever could.
She stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of his arm. "Then don't push me away when I'm trying to stay."
He didn't respond right away. Just looked down at her with a faint smile—a strange, crooked thing, like he didn't know what to do with it. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Stay, then. But don't expect me to be some noble knight... Ughh."
Cassie's lips curved upward. "You? Noble? I'd be more worried if you tried."
Klaus grinned. "Good. That'd be exhausting."
They stood there for a moment, the moonlight pooling across the floor like spilled silver. In that quiet, warm hush, something settled between them. Not peace, not yet—but something like it. Something better.