Page 70 of Iron Roses

When he closes the door, the world falls into a hush again.

The stadium is alive by the time we arrive. Carlton colors everywhere—scarves, flags, painted faces, the low roar of chatter building toward something electric.

People nod when they see him.

Some clap him on the back, others move aside without being asked.

A few just stare—too long, like they’re unsure what to make of seeing him here. No one pays attention to me.

Security waves us through. No metal detectors. No checks.

We’re led past the crowd, through a glass-paneled corridor, and into a private box with wide glass windows and high-backed seats. The view is perfect.

Someone brings us drinks—sparkling water for him, something citrus for me.

He doesn’t touch his, just watches the field.

I sit beside him, legs crossed, hands folded in my lap. The crowd surges. Anthem. Whistle.

The game begins.

The flash comes without warning.

Giovanna again—beside him, blue scarf knotted loosely at her throat, paint on her cheeks. She leans over him, whispering something.

And he laughs.

A full, open laugh. Head thrown back. Hands clapping once, then again.

He stands, cheers, roars when a goal is scored.

In the memory, he’s alive in a way I’ve never seen him.

The vision pulls away like breath on glass.

Now—he sits beside me.

Same man. Same seat. But still.

No clapping. No shouting.

His jaw is relaxed, eyes on the game, one hand resting on his thigh, the other curled near mine on the seat between us. He watches it all like a man remembering, not experiencing.

And I wonder—

Who were you then?

And why does some part of me—quiet and ashamed—ache to be what you were before the silence?

****

The crowd begins to thin—streams of laughter, crushed soda cups, the last echoes of victory ringing off the stadium walls. Cassian stands first, hand extended, his palm open to me like a question.

I place mine in his without thinking.

His fingers close around mine. My dress clings a little at the thighs. The mask still shields most of my face. We move down the corridor, past security, past families buzzing from the high. No one stops us. No one dares. Cassian’s presence carves space like a blade through mist.

Then—

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