Cassian stood in front of the manor for a long, heavy moment, the weight of Lysandra's words pressing against his chest. He had told her he needed to go to Chester, but the echo of his own cruel parting words—the finality in his voice, the way he had dismissed a man who had only ever fought to stand beside him—locked his boots to the stone path.
He didn't deserve to seek him out. Not after everything.
Fleeing the suffocating pity in his sister's eyes, Cassian turned away from the grand entrance and made his way toward the stables.
He saddled a restless bay mare without a word to the stablehands, mounted up, and rode out into the cooling dusk. He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere the wind could strip the suffocating self-loathing from his skin, and somewhere he wouldn't be forced to endure another well-meaning lecture from family.
