Cassian did not care that Olga had found him alive.
He did not care about her shock, her questions, her wide eyes scanning his face for an explanation that would make sense of a dead man standing upright in a dimly lit room with his arms full of an unconscious girl.
None of that mattered to him. What mattered was that someone had tried to kill Cixi.
He stood with his back to the bedroom window, Cixi lying motionless on the bed behind him, her breathing shallow, her hair fanned across the pillow like spilled gold. He had not moved from that position since he had carried her inside.
Olga stood near the doorway. She had not been invited in. She had followed because her legs had carried her here before her mind had finished deciding whether to run.
