Page 30 of Paws & Order

Not even discreetly.

I think about something Marlena said a few days ago.

You two are the last two to know, huh?

She meant it as a joke. At least I think she did.

Now, sitting in the thick afternoon silence broken only by turning pages, I'm not so sure.

After dusk, I step onto the balcony to water my newly resurrected ficus.

Lights blink on across the courtyard. Televisions glow. Dinners cook. Ordinary lives unfold behind ordinary windows.

I wonder if my mystery friend is watching. And from where.

A yowl rises from below. It resolves, eventually, into Gomez's familiar irritated meow.

I glance down. He's pacing the railing, moonlit and offended by existence. He freezes. Looks over his shoulder. Then bolts through the cracked balcony door.

I follow him inside.

Instead of heading toward the bathroom, he makes a beeline for Cassian. The cat circles twice before settling directly in his lap. Cassian doesn't move him. Doesn't even try.

"That's new," I say.

"He knows a protector when he sees one."

A smile tugs at his mouth. "Or he's cold. Wolves make excellent heating pads."

I don't think Gomez has ever sat in my lap.

I also don't think I've ever wanted to trade places with my cat.

Yet here we are.

An hour later, I find Cassian asleep on the couch, his book resting crooked across his chest and one arm curled protectively around Gomez.

The traitor.

The cat is purring loudly enough to be heard from the kitchen.

For a minute, I just stand there. The apartment is quiet except for Gomez and the distant groan of a foghorn out on the bay.

Cassian's head has fallen back against the cushions. One large hand still rests loosely on the book. He's exhausted. Not because of a double shift. Not because of paperwork. Because of me.

Because someone started leaving flowers and coins in my apartment, and Cassian decided that meant he wasn't leaving me alone.

Something tightens in my chest.

It's not guilt.

It's worse.

Gratitude. The dangerous kind.

The kind that starts looking an awful lot like affection if you stare at it too long.

Carefully, I drape a blanket over him.