Shattered Realities

The machinery's hum and soldiers' muffled voices outside the briefing room provided a constant backdrop. Cassie Cage stood at the head of the room, the faint glow of the holo-table lighting her sharp features. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her pristine uniform carried the scuffs of a recent mission. Her gaze was as piercing as her tone.

"We hit them here," she said, pointing to a spot on the holographic map. "The Cyber Lin Kuei outpost. Intel says they're guarding something big—possibly Kronika Tech. This isn't just another smash-and-grab. We need precision."

Her team, which included seasoned operatives and rookies, nodded, their expressions a mix of determination and nervous energy. Cassie's presence demanded respect. Her voice carried the weight of someone who had faced death and won, yet her delivery often had the sharp edge of sarcasm that made her infamous among her squad.

"Any questions? No? Good," she concluded, smirking. "I didn't think so. Dismissed."

As the operatives filed out, Lieutenant Commander Alexander Grant lingered by the door, arms crossed. His dark hair was neatly combed, but his uniform bore the relaxed air of someone who wore authority lightly. His dark eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, even as his face maintained a neutral expression.

"Well done, Commander," he drawled, stepping into the room. "Another pep talk to inspire the masses. I'm sure they're trembling with motivation."

Cassie glanced at him, one eyebrow arched. "If you've got a better way to pump them up, Grant, feel free to take the floor next time."

He shrugged. "Oh, I'd love to, but I'm afraid my unique leadership style—'sarcasm and low expectations'—isn't officially sanctioned by the brass."

Cassie rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Lucky for them. Now, what do you want?"

"Just here to offer my professional insights," Grant said, leaning against the holo-table. "For example, it's clear you've got this whole 'living up to your mom's legacy' thing nailed down. The barking orders? Spot on. Not smiling for hours? Uncanny resemblance."

Cassie shot him a withering look.

"Are you done?"

"Almost." He straightened up, his tone softening slightly. "Seriously, Cassie. You're doing fine. The rookies respect you—even if you scare the hell out of them."

Before she could respond, the door opened, and Dylan Rogers stepped in. His casual attire, consisting of a leather jacket and jeans, stood out in stark contrast to the militarised environment. His sandy brown hair was slightly unkempt, and his usual easygoing grin seemed forced.

"Hey, Cass," he greeted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Got a minute?"

Cassie's expression shifted, her usual confidence softening as she turned to face him. "Dylan. What's up?

Grant, sensing the change in mood, gave a subtle nod to Cassie.

"I'll catch you later, Commander." He paused by Dylan, clapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"Try not to get in the way, Rogers."

Dylan managed a weak chuckle.

"Yeah, sure."

As Grant left, Cassie crossed her arms and leaned against the table.

"You've been MIA lately," she said, tone casual but tinged with concern. "Everything okay?"

Dylan hesitated, his gaze darting to the floor before meeting hers. "Yeah. I mean... no. Work's been crazy, and I guess I've been in my head often."

Cassie's brow furrowed. "In your head about what?"

He shrugged. "Life, the future... us."

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Cassie's lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated. Her confidence in the field didn't always translate to personal matters, especially ones involving emotions.

"Look, Dylan," she began, her voice steady but quieter than usual. "If something is bothering you, just say it. Don't leave me guessing."

Dylan nodded, but the tension in his posture didn't ease.

"I will. Just... not now, okay? I need to figure some stuff out."

Cassie's jaw tightened, but she didn't press further. "Fine," she said, her tone brisk. "But don't keep me waiting too long."

As Dylan turned to leave, Grant reappeared in the doorway, a brow raised. "All good here, or should I start scheduling therapy sessions?"

Cassie shot him a glare. "Not now, Grant."

"Fair enough." He smirked, stepping aside to let Dylan pass.

"Rogers, always a pleasure."

Once Dylan was gone, Grant stepped into the room, his tone unusually serious. "You okay?"

Cassie sighed, rubbing her temples. "It's nothing. Just... personal stuff."

Grant nodded, his usual sarcasm muted. "Well, for what it's worth, you've got a mission to focus on. Whatever's going on, don't let it mess with your head."

Cassie looked at him, a small smile creeping back onto her face.

"Thanks, Grant. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it," he quipped, heading for the door.

"Now go be the terrifyingly competent leader we all know and fear."

As the door closed behind him, Cassie took a deep breath, steeling herself. Whatever was going on with Dylan, she couldn't afford to let it distract her. The mission—and her legacy—came first.

As the assault on the Cyber Lin Kuai commenced, Cassie was focused on the mission, pushing Dylan's strange behaviour of late out of her mind. She would deal with it later. Overhead, a storm was brewing.

"Rogers, what's your stat?" Asked Cassie through the throat mic

"All good, Commander. We encountered some resistance, but it was nothing I couldn't handle," Dylan replied,

"Don't get cocky, Sergeant", Cassie reminded him. "We still have a mission to complete."

After the mission, Dylan found Cassie standing alone in the cool breeze, her high ponytail swaying slightly in the gentle wind. "Sup, Cassie, ready to go to Nobu Malibu later?" Dylan asked, hoping to spend time with Cassie outside of work

"Nobu Malibu? You know how to treat a girl," Cassie teased, pulling him in for a kiss. "What's the time you booked for us, stud?" Cassie asked, looking at Dylan

"Is 7 pm okay for you?" Dylan asked

"Perfect. See you tonight, Stud."

Back at base, Alexander overheard Dylan on the phone with another woman, ending with "I'll see you later" before pocketing his phone and glancing around nervously.

'Who were you on the phone to, asshole?'Alexander asked, his arms crossed defensively, looking Dylan straight in the eyes

"A friend," Dylan said defensively, looking anywhere but at Alex.

"A 'friend' who you just happen to make plans with after making plans to see Cassie?" Dylan questioned with a raised eyebrow. "You're a horrible liar, Sergeant. You really are 'Captain Commitment', aren't you?"

**********************************************

The sky bled into molten orange and dusky purple, the waves lapping at the Malibu shore. Laughter and the clink of crystal stemware floated on the breeze, but Cassie Cage sat hunched at her table, arms folded, glaring at her untouched cocktail like it had personally offended her.

She'd been waiting.

An hour late. No sign of Dylan.

Her phone buzzed.

Alexander (8:05 PM): Still no sign of "Captain Commitment," I take it?

Cassie rolled her eyes, tapping out a response harder than necessary.

Cassie (8:06 PM): He's running late. Traffic maybe. You know how LA can be, Grant.

She could practically see Alexander's smirk through the screen. The mental image was as irritating as the real thing.

Alexander (8:07 PM): Traffic. Sure. Perhaps he's entangled in... "other engagements."

Cassie's jaw tightened.

Cassie (8:07 PM): What's that supposed to mean?

The candle on the table flickered, casting neon reflections of Malibu's coastline on her wine glass. The laughter from a nearby table grated against her frayed nerves. Nobu wasn't cheap, and Dylan had insisted on the reservation. He'd said he had something important to tell her. Something big.

So where the hell was he?

Alexander (8:09 PM): Just a friendly observation. When people have nothing to hide, they tend to keep their commitments. Hypothetically speaking, of course. If someone has... extracurricular activities, punctuality might not be their strong suit.

Cassie exhaled sharply through her nose.

Cassie (8:10 PM): Cute theory, Grant. But you don't know him like I do. Dylan's been solid since Singapore. We've worked through the tough stuff. People like you don't see that because all you ever look for is the cracks.

Even as she hit send, doubt twisted in her gut.

Alexander (8:12 PM): You're right—I don't know him. But I do know patterns. Men who dodge milestone dinners. Men who avoid direct questions. Men who promise too much and deliver too little. Sound familiar?

Cassie's grip on the phone tightened.

Cassie (8:13 PM): You are done with the psychoanalysis, Lieutenant Commander Sassafras? I'm not in the mood.

Her reflection in the dark screen looked strained. The maître d' glanced at her table, pity evident in his expression. Heat crawled up her neck.

Finally, she stood, tossing cash onto the table.

She strode onto the promenade, the waves crashing softly against the shoreline—

Then stopped.

Dylan. Hand-in-hand with a woman who wasn't her.

The breath in her lungs turned razor-sharp, but she kept walking, her boots hitting the pavement with deadly precision. Dylan froze, his grip loosening on the woman's hand.

Cassie stopped a few feet away, her grey eyes as hard as steel.

"Who the hell is this?"Both women spoke at once.

Cassie let out a short, humourless laugh. "Guess that makes me the sidepiece."

Dylan's face drained of colour. "Cassie, I can explain—"

Cassie held up a hand. "Oh, that'll be good."

Dylan took a step closer. "Cass, it's not what you think."

Cassie tilted her head, eyes burning. "Really? 'Cause it looks a hell of a lot like you lying to me. Again."

Dylan swallowed. "You've been so busy with work—things just got complicated—"

Cassie took a sharp breath, stepping forward until they were nearly nose-to-nose.

"You know what?" Her voice was eerily calm. "I should've listened to Grant."

Dylan flinched.

Cassie's voice dropped lower, steel-edged. "But instead, I wasted ten years on a coward who never knew what he wanted." She stepped back. "Enjoy the reservation, Dylan. It's non-refundable."

She turned on her heel and walked away.

Her phone buzzed.

Alexander (8:45 PM): So, what's the verdict? Traffic, aliens, or the usual BS?

Cassie (9:01 PM): Hey. I need a ride. You close?

Three minutes later, the reply came through.

Alexander (9:04 PM): Be there in 5. Trouble in paradise?

Cassie let out a bitter laugh that barely softened the anger in her chest. Her fingers danced across the screen.

Cassie (9:05 PM): Let's say I need a buffer. I need to be quick, or I might be booked for assault.

Sliding her phone into her bag, Cassie stood in the parking lot, fists clenching and unclenching as her boots tapped a sharp rhythm against the asphalt. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm raging in her chest. The distant hum of traffic barely registered over the pounding in her ears.

"Cassie, wait," Dylan's voice cut through the night air.

She didn't bother turning around. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Don't," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. Turning her head just enough to catch him in her peripheral vision, she added, "Fuck. Off."

Dylan recoiled but didn't retreat, his voice pleading. "Can we just talk? You're blowing this out of proportion—"

Cassie spun on her heel, stepping closer, her tone ice-cold. "Blowing this out of proportion? Really? After everything?" She let the words hang, her eyes narrowing to slits. "I'm done, Dylan. I'm done covering for you. Done pretending you're anything but a coward in expensive shoes."

Before he could reply, headlights swept over them, the low rumble of an engine breaking the tension. A clean, rugged, and understated black SUV rolled to a stop before her. The window rolled down, revealing Alexander's sharp features, lit by the faint glow of the dashboard.

"Need a lift, Commander?" he asked, his voice casual but edged with curiosity.

Cassie didn't respond. She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat without sparing Dylan another glance. Slamming the door shut, she exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat.

"I'll give directions," she said, her voice quieter than usual.

Alexander pulled away, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "So... you didn't punch him. I'm impressed."

Cassie snorted, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Don't tempt me. There's still time."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Fair. Where to?"

Cassie turned to look out the window, her voice soft but steady. "Anywhere but here."

The tension in the car on the ride back to the Cage mansion was as taut as a wire. Cassie sat in the passenger seat, her red, damp eyes staring out the window at the blur of the streetlights. She wasn't looking at anything—just trying to keep her mind busy. The silence between her and Alex was deafening. When would he say it? "I was right," she thought, bracing herself for the inevitable jab.

But Alex said nothing, his focus entirely on the road.

Cassie's jaw tightened. She turned to him, the frustration boiling over. "Aren't you going to say it?"

Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn't care.

Alex didn't take his eyes off the road. "What good would it do me, Cassie?"

The simplicity of his answer caught her off guard. She opened her mouth to snap back, but no words came. He had a point. What good would it do him? All he'd done was warn her, and she hadn't listened.

The rest of the drive was quiet, save for the engine's hum.

When they pulled up to the Cage mansion, the porch light cast a warm glow over the driveway. Johnny Cage was already outside, dressed in a "Johnny Caged" hoodie and sweatpants, looking between confused and suspicious as he spotted Alex's truck.

Alex parked, and Cassie stepped out, not sparing him another glance.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll bite. Why are you dropping her off? And where's Dylan? No offence, but you're not exactly boyfriend material."

Alex climbed out of the truck, sharing a look with Cassie—a brief but loaded exchange.

"Let's just say Dylan stood her up for the last time," Alex replied, his tone as dry as sandpaper.

Johnny caught the look between them, his confusion fading into realisation. His jaw tightened, his usual smirk faltering.

"Ah." Johnny scratched the back of his head, then forced a casual grin. "Well, we'll need more popcorn for this story." He gestured toward the house. "Come on in. Sonya'll ensure Dylan doesn't even think about calling her again."

Cassie rolled her eyes but followed her father to the door. Alex hesitated momentarily, leaning against the truck as he watched her go.

"Thanks for the ride," Cassie said over her shoulder, her voice quieter, less guarded.

Alex gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable. "Always."

As Cassie disappeared inside, Alex climbed back into his truck. He sat momentarily, staring at the glow of the mansion's windows, before finally pulling away.

Once inside the Cage Mansion, Cassie told them everything that happened, about how Cassie had waited for Dylan for over an hour, hoping that they'd tie the knot before she got fed up and decided to seek him out and saw Dylan with another woman when she went along the promenade and the big blow up in public leading to Alex picking her up and dropping her off.

"I thought I knew him," Cassie said, her voice breaking. "Ten years. Ten goddamn years." She let out a bitter laugh that caught in her throat. "And if Alex hadn't been there—" She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as tears welled up. "I don't even know what would've happened. I was just standing there... looking like a fool, while he paraded around with her like I didn't even exist."

For a moment, her thoughts drifted to Alex—the way he didn't press her for answers, didn't pity her, just got her out of there without making it worse.

She opened the messenger app and typed: Thanks for the Uber. 5 stars.

Then stared at it.

Her finger hovered over Send—but instead, she exhaled, hit delete, and shut the screen.

"Keycie," Alex said flatly, leaning against the doorframe. "As your brother—and someone who's deeply tired of imagining you as a future MILF—I seriously think you should get an IUD. Your one-night stand record is... impressive. And statistically dangerous."

Keycie didn't even flinch. "You know I take precautions, Alex. No one's actually done the deed yet." She flashed him a sunny, unbothered smile.

Alex arched a brow. "Case in point."

**********************************************

Keycie might've been the younger sibling by a minute, but she knew her brother was brilliant in his own right. He'd earned a doctorate in Forensic Psychology from the same university she had—UCLA—but unlike her, Alex never boasted about it. Where she was loud and unfiltered, he wore his accomplishments like armor: quiet, subtle, and solid.

People liked to assume Keycie had sucked her way to a degree, thanks to her loud mouth and ditsy persona. But that couldn't have been further from the truth. She'd earned her doctorate the hard way—long nights, relentless study, and a mind that could crack open a person like a well-worn novel. The act she played? That was strategy. Smoke and mirrors. And most people never even realized they'd already lost the game.

The only person who ever saw behind Keycie's mask was Alex.

Everyone else bought the act—the loud laugh, the constant flirting, the carefully curated chaos. But not him. Never him. He saw the sharpness in her eyes when no one was looking. Heard the weight in her silence between punchlines. He knew that beneath the glitter and noise was a mind like a scalpel, and a heart she guarded like a secret.

Sometimes she hated that he could see her so clearly. Most times, she was just grateful.

So far, Cassie had shot down every advance made by fellow soldiers—clean, sharp, and without hesitation. She didn't flirt. She didn't entertain. She reminded them, point-blank, that fraternization was against protocol on base. End of story.

Some called her cold. Others, a hardass. But Cassie didn't care. She'd learned the hard way that lines blurred fast when emotions got involved—and she had zero interest in cleaning up someone else's mess. Not anymore.

When Cassie heard Alexander was single, her traitorous heart skipped a beat. Just once—but enough to make her grit her teeth.

No. She shook her head sharply. He was a Captain, for Christ's sake—her junior. The chain of command was clear, and she wasn't about to blur that line. Not again. Not for anyone.

Especially not for someone like him.

Observing him in close quarters, Cassie told herself it wasn't attraction.

His intense gaze didn't make her knees go soft. His strong, tactical build wasn't eye-catching—it was standard-issue military conditioning. Professionalism. That's all it was.

She wasn't staring. She was gathering intel.

Strictly tactical.

Definitely not personal.

"You're staring," Alex said, not bothering to look up as he caught her gaze.

"You're imagining things, Captain," Cassie replied, her tone clipped with indifference.

"Oh? Then what would you call it, Commander?" he asked, turning fully to face her.

Cassie's eyes flicked away—pointedly avoiding the cut of his soldier's physique, the taut definition of his chest beneath the shirt, and that damn Lichtenberg figure spiraling up his arm from his hand like divine lightning.

"Assessing your weaknesses," she said flatly.

"And what weaknesses have you seen, Commander?" Alex asked, his voice low, deliberate—just enough bite to make it dangerous.

Cassie didn't flinch, but her jaw tightened slightly.

"Cockiness. Overconfidence. A tendency to talk too much when you think you've got the upper hand."

Alex arched a brow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Sounds like projection."

Cassie stepped closer, closing the distance by a hair—not enough to cross a line, but enough to feel the static in the air.

"Sounds like a man trying to deflect," she said coolly.

"Then for the sake of ironing out my weaknesses," Alex said, holding his ground, "why don't we train together? Or is brooding the new flavor of the month, Commander?"

Cassie's eyes narrowed. "Fine. But don't be shocked when I kick your ass, Captain."

She wasn't excited about sparring with him.

This was, after all, about his weaknesses.

Not hers.

Definitely not hers.

"You were spoiling for a fight, weren't you?" Alex called from behind the thin veil of steam, his voice echoing slightly in the tiled locker room.

Cassie, sitting on the bench outside the shower stalls, smirked as she toweled sweat from her neck. "I wasn't the one baiting with 'flavor of the month' comments."

"Touché," he said, the water hitting tile as he shut it off. His voice dropped slightly—lower, rougher now without the distraction of sparring. "Still, you came at me like you had something to prove."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flutter in her chest. "Maybe I did."

There was a pause.

Then: "And did you?"

Cassie's breath hitched—just for a second. The sound of the shower curtain sliding back echoed like a gunshot in the quiet.

She didn't look, but she felt him. His presence. That body, still damp, still radiating heat. A towel slung low around his hips. The Lichtenberg scars on his arm catching the locker room light like lightning frozen in skin.

"I proved I could still kick your ass," she said, reaching for her gear bag.

Alex stepped closer, still drying his hair, voice calm but loaded. "And yet... you didn't."

Cassie turned to him, meeting his eyes—hard, unreadable hazel.

"Don't confuse restraint with inability," she said.

Their eyes locked. Heat simmered in the air between them, thick with unsaid things. Challenge. Invitation. Denial.

Finally, Alex gave her a crooked half-smile. "Noted."

He turned toward his locker, tension trailing behind him like a scent.

Cassie exhaled slowly, grabbed her bag, and headed for the exit—heart pounding like she'd just gone ten more rounds.

"You know, Cage," Keycie called out as she slid her phone into her back pocket, leaning casually against the locker room doorframe, "if you were any more attracted to my brother, you might as well just mount him and be done with it."

Cassie, halfway through tying her boot, froze for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to make it obvious.

She didn't look up. "Subtlety isn't your thing, is it?"

Keycie grinned. "Neither is denial, apparently."

Cassie stood, expression neutral, but her ears were a little too pink to sell it.

"I was sparring," she said flatly.

Keycie made a tsk sound. "Mmhm. Sparring. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Cassie grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Tell your brother if he ever wants to go another round, I'm game."

She walked past Keycie, brushing her shoulder as she went, but Keycie just grinned wider.

"Oh, I'll tell him," she called after her. "And trust me, he's already dying to."

"You're not as smart as you think you are," Cassie said dryly, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Or are you just planning another glitter bomb for morale?"

Keycie didn't flinch. She grinned.

"Oh, Cassie." Her voice dripped with mock pity. "I have a doctorate in psychology from UCLA."

Cassie stopped mid-stride.

Keycie cocked her head, eyes sparkling. "Graduated top of my class. Thesis on the psychological profiling of manipulative personalities, actually."

She flashed a too-sweet smile. "So next time you assume I'm just an airhead with sparkles, maybe remember—I read people for sport."

Cassie stared at her for a second longer than she meant to. Then muttered, "Noted," and walked off—faster this time.

Behind her, Keycie called cheerfully, "Have fun not thinking about my brother!"

Cassie sat at her desk, fingers poised over the keyboard.

If Keycie Grant was telling the truth—and that smug, sparkly grin suggested she was—then Cassie owed her a serious apology.

Not that she wanted to. But facts were facts.

So she pulled up the secure database and started typing.

Grant, Keycelyn M.

Clearance Level: Alpha

Education: PhD, Clinical & Forensic Psychology, UCLA

Thesis: "The Strategic Mask: Weaponized Perception and Personality Manipulation in High-Stakes Environments"

Cassie blinked.

Okay. So she hadn't been bluffing.

And now came the part where Cassie had to admit—to herself, anyway—that maybe she'd underestimated her. Badly.

She sighed, leaned back in her chair, and muttered, "Shit."

An apology was forming. Somewhere.

Later.

For now, she shut the screen and headed for the shower.

And definitely didn't think about Alex.

Not his voice. Not his smirk.

Not how his arm looked when his sleeves were rolled up, scars catching the light.

Nope.

Not thinking about that at all.

"Your little girlfriend's a machine," Keycie said, curled on the couch with one leg tucked beneath her, sipping tea like she hadn't just dissected someone's psyche. "She's used to being top dog, sure—but I'm guessing something happened to push it into overdrive."

She didn't look at her brother as she spoke. She didn't need to. Her tone was casual, but the precision in her words cut like a diagnostic tool—clean, exact, practiced.

"I refuse to play matchmaker this time, Alex." Keycie clicked off the TV with one hand and stood up, stretching lazily. "If you want to win this one over, you'll have to keep doing exactly what you're doing. Cassie's whole thing is work first, play later. Always has been."

She didn't wait for a response. Just padded off toward her room, already mentally diving back into the thesis paper she'd been refining—like she hadn't just dropped emotionally calibrated advice and walked away like it was nothing.

Alex took Keycie's words in stride, sitting in the silence she'd left behind.

She wasn't wrong.

Cassie Cage had enough people throwing themselves at her on a regular basis—soldiers, hotshots, charmers, sycophants. Hell, even some officers who should know better. She didn't need another name on that list.

So, he made a decision. A quiet one. The kind he was good at.

He wouldn't pursue her.

Wouldn't flirt. Wouldn't circle. Wouldn't bait.

Not because he wasn't interested—God, he was—but because Cassie respected strength. Discipline. And she didn't need someone chasing her.

She needed someone who could keep pace. Someone who could wait.

Cassie had expected at least a little fanfare when she stepped onto base. A smirk, a smart-ass comment, maybe a sarcastic salute from Alex.

Instead?

Professionalism. Straight posture. A crisp "Commander" and nothing else.

It was throwing her off her game more than she liked to admit.

Not that she didn't enjoy their banter. She did. Maybe a little too much. But now that he wasn't engaging, her brain was trying to fill in the silence—and it was pissing her off.

And to make matters worse, Keycie had been smug as hell about it ever since Cassie had tried to apologize for misjudging her.

Cassie had barely gotten the words out before Keycie gave her a sweet, practiced smile and said, "Aw. Personal growth looks so good on you."

Like she'd won a game Cassie hadn't even realized they were playing.

Cassie had muttered something vaguely polite and walked off before she said something she couldn't take back.

"Captain," Cassie said, voice firm but quiet as the others filed out of the debriefing room. She didn't look at him right away. "We need to clear the air."

Alex paused, the last hint of a smirk fading from his face as he turned toward her. "What is it, Commander?"

She faced him now, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "Have I done something to offend you?"

He blinked. "Offend me?"

"You're... different than before." Her tone was clinical, but her eyes were searching. "More restrained. You banter with me like usual, but it's—off. Controlled." She hesitated, then added a little too quickly, "Not that I enjoy it or anything."

Alex let the silence hang a moment longer than necessary, as if testing her. Then he said, calmly, "You haven't done anything, Cassie. Don't worry."

"Then why the shift?" she asked, her voice just barely softer now. "It's like you put distance there on purpose."

"I did," he admitted. "I'm just... showing you I can focus when necessary."

Cassie blinked, her posture tightening again. "Right. Professionalism."

"Respect," he corrected. "For you. For your boundaries. For the fact that I'm not one of those guys you have to keep deflecting."

Her jaw tightened, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through her. Then she nodded once, just enough to acknowledge him—but not enough to give away too much.

"I appreciate that," she said. Her voice was quieter now. "Even if I kind of... miss the bullshit, sometimes."

Alex smiled, just a hint. "Well. I'm versatile."

Cassie snorted. "Don't get cocky, Captain."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Commander."

But their eyes lingered a moment longer before she turned away—just slightly too fast.

Back at home, Cassie sat slouched on the couch beside her father, eyes aimed vaguely at the TV but clearly not watching. The action scene played on, loud and dramatic, but she didn't flinch when someone got blown through a wall.

Johnny Cage finally hit pause, the screen freezing mid-explosion. He glanced sideways at her.

"Alright, kiddo—what gives?" he asked, swinging one arm over the back of the couch. "You're usually all over this stuff. Critiquing my acting like a combat medic breaking down an autopsy report. I haven't heard a single 'weak script, Dad' or 'your stunt double carried that scene.' I'm getting worried."

Cassie sighed, leaning her head back against the couch cushion. "Sorry. Just distracted."

Johnny gave her a look. "Cass. You're not the 'distracted' type. You're the 'emotionally compartmentalized with a tactical breakdown on standby' type."

That earned him the barest hint of a smirk.

"So," he said, switching off the TV completely. "Something's on your mind. Spill."

"Alex has been acting different lately," Cassie admitted, still staring at the dark screen. "Usually we have a verbal sparring match first thing in the morning—before coffee. And after our... intense sparring sessions." Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. "But now? He says he's 'showing me that he can focus when necessary.'"

Johnny raised a brow, slowly turning to face her. "And that's throwing you off your game?"

Cassie frowned. "It's... weird. It's like I finally got the space I used to want, and now I don't know what to do with it."

Johnny nodded like he'd just been given a puzzle he actually understood. "Ah. So you miss the chase. The tension. The 'I can't stand you but also might accidentally kiss you in a locker room' vibe."

Cassie shot him a glare, but he raised both hands innocently.

"Hey, I've been there, Cass. Believe it or not, your old man used to have women throw punches and panties in the same room."

She groaned. "God, Dad, why—"

"But," he cut in smoothly, "what you're describing? That's not him backing off. That's him giving you space without disappearing. That's rare. That's respect, kiddo. And maybe a little strategy. Smart guy."

Cassie was quiet a moment longer before she muttered, "I hate that it makes me like him more."

Johnny grinned. "Then I'd say his plan's working beautifully."

Johnny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched his daughter wrestle with emotions she hadn't quite named yet.

"Listen, Cassie," he said, his voice gentler than usual, "you've got people throwing themselves at you all the time. Comes with the territory—strong, smart, certified badass. It's part admiration, part intimidation, and a whole lot of ego-chasing."

He paused, giving her a second to absorb it.

"So yeah... it makes sense that the one guy who isn't falling all over himself to validate you? That he's the one you can't stop thinking about."

Cassie didn't answer, but she didn't deny it either. Her eyes stayed fixed on some distant point in the dark screen.

Johnny leaned back, stretching slightly, his tone lightening again. "Trust me, I've seen it. Hell, I lived it. Sonya didn't give a damn about my fame. Thought I was a narcissistic jackass."

"You were a narcissistic jackass," Cassie muttered.

"Exactly!" Johnny grinned, pointing at her. "And you know what? That made me want to be better. Be someone worth her time. Maybe that's what this Grant guy's doing. Pulling back because he respects you. Not because he's not into you—but because he actually gives a damn."

Cassie finally looked at him, the weight in her chest just a little lighter.

"You really think that's what this is?"

Johnny shrugged. "I think if he wanted less from you, he'd be trying harder. But the fact that he's not trying at all? That tells me everything."

Cassie had reassigned Lieutenant Commander Grant to a different infiltration squad—one that would take a secondary route through the Bone Wastes, flanking the main Netherrealm stronghold. It was a tactically sound decision. "For efficiency," she'd said.

And she'd paired him with her mother.

It wasn't a demotion. Wasn't a slight. But it meant safer ground, tighter backup, and more eyes on him.

Sonya Blade had raised a brow when the orders came down. She hadn't commented on the change, just nodded and executed. But she wasn't blind.

She noticed the way Cassie lingered whenever Alex was around—always just far enough away to make it seem casual, but close enough to track him. A glance across the training yard. A pause in the hallway when she knew his squad would be coming through. Not hovering, not obvious—just... watching.

Sonya didn't say a word. She'd been young once too. She remembered what it was like to care about someone in the middle of a war, and how terrifying it could be to admit it. Especially when you were supposed to be in control.

So she kept her distance, respected the boundaries Cassie was pretending not to blur, and made sure no one else called attention to it either.

Because if Cassie was going to figure this out, it had to be on her terms.

Cassie had mulled it over for weeks.

No way was she ready for commitment—not after Dylan. Not after ten years of building something she thought was real, only to watch it implode under the weight of someone else's cowardice.

But casual?

No strings. No promises. No heart on the line.

That she could handle.

She'd laid out the terms in her head like a mission op:

• Fun only.

• Keep it light.

• If feelings got messy? Cut and run.

And if anyone couldn't stick to the rules? Easy. She'd "dump" them like bad data from a corrupted mission file.

It was a solid plan.

Which made it all the more infuriating that she wanted to test it on Alex.

The one guy who hadn't pursued her. Who respected her space. Who didn't hover or play the knight in shining armor. Who gave her room to breathe.

Which, of course, made her want him more.

She found him alone—between drills, no one else around, sun catching the lightning scars on his arm like goddamn fate was showing off.

Cassie squared her shoulders, jaw tight, palms definitely not sweaty.

"Hey, Lieutenant commander," she said, her voice steady. Almost. "Can I have a word?"

Alex looked up from his tablet, brow raised slightly. He clocked the faint flush in her cheeks, but didn't comment.

"Sure. What's on your mind, Commander?"

Cassie had faced gods. Monsters. Entire warzones.

She'd fought shoulder-to-shoulder with legends, stared down death more times than she could count—and walked away every damn time with her head high.

But asking this? Proposing something that wasn't strategy or combat or protocol?

It made her want to throw a flashbang and vanish.

She took a breath. Steadied her hands. This was fine. She could do this. Keep it clean. Tactical. Professional... ish.

Her tone was clipped, no-nonsense, like she was briefing for a drop into Outworld. "How would you like to spend time together? Outside of work."

She didn't pause, afraid if she did, she'd lose her nerve.

"Casually. Just fun. No expectations. Keep it light. And if things get messy, we cut it. No hard feelings."

Her eyes finally met his.

There was no flirtation in her tone. Just strategy. Just rules.

But the blush on her cheeks said everything her voice wouldn't.

Alex didn't speak right away.

Cassie hated that. The silence made her second-guess every word. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

"Alright," he said finally, voice low, measured.

Her eyes snapped to his.

"Fun only," he continued, ticking it off with one finger. "No expectations." Another finger. "Casual. Light. And if it goes sideways, we end it, no hard feelings."

He met her gaze evenly. "Those are the rules, right?"

Cassie nodded, trying not to let her shoulders relax too visibly. "Right."

Alex stepped a little closer, just enough to blur the line between friendly and something more. His voice dropped slightly.

"Then I accept your terms, Commander."

Cassie's pulse did a little traitorous flutter.

"But," he added, his smirk creeping in now, "just so we're clear—if I start winning this little game of yours, don't get salty."

Her brow arched. "Winning? This isn't a competition, Grant."

"Oh, everything's a competition with you," he said, eyes gleaming. "And for the record? I like a challenge."

Cassie fought the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Fine. But don't confuse 'casual' with 'easy.' I don't do clingy, jealous, or dramatic. And if you so much as start getting weird—"

"You'll ghost me and pretend it never happened," Alex finished smoothly. "Understood. No weirdness."

They stood in silence for a second—just long enough to feel the spark between them.

Cassie crossed her arms. "Glad we're on the same page."

Alex gave a mock salute. "Crystal clear, Commander."

She turned to go, then paused.

"One more thing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Cassie looked over her shoulder, her voice dry. "Don't be late."