Something was trembling. Cassius frowned, at first glancing down at the ground, thinking it was the earth beneath him quaking. But the grass swayed still and the soil lay quiet. No, it wasn't the ground. It was his own hands. They trembled faintly, betraying what his face refused to show, as though some instinct deep in his bones feared what his mind was only beginning to grasp— that he might not leave this place. That he might be chained to Hell.
"That woman must mean a lot to me," Cassius muttered, staring at his shaking hands. His voice was steady but the words felt like glass cutting his tongue. Him, the very same man who had laughed at blades pressed to his throat, who had waded through blood without blinking— now trembling at the thought of being caged below, trembling at the thought of leaving her behind.
