A gut-wrenching scream tore through the night, jolting Cassandra awake. Her heart hammered in her chest, sweat drenching her skin. The nightmare clung to her, the image of her mother's lifeless body, the crimson stain spreading across the hearth rug, refusing to fade.

  Roused from sleep, Thomas scrambled to his feet, nearly tumbling over Cassandra in his haste to reach her. "Cassius, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

  Cassandra's breath hitched, her eyes wide with terror. The moonlight painted the hayloft in an eerie glow, amplifying the lingering fear. Without a second thought, she buried her face in Thomas's shoulder, her body wracked with sobs.

  He held her tightly, his arms a haven of warmth and protection amidst the encroaching darkness. "It's okay," he murmured, a soothing rumble against her ear. "You're safe here."

  Thomas rocked her back and forth gently. "Cass," he whispered, his voice filled with concern, "what did you dream?"

  Cassandra hesitated, her throat tight with unspoken words. But the desire to share, to unburden herself, was too strong. "The smell of...ale, so strong. Angry shouts...everywhere. Mother's scream...and the blood, so much blood. He...he killed her."

  Thomas's arms tightened around her, his grip a silent promise of protection against the world that had turned its back on her. The cots creaked softly beneath their weight, a comforting reminder of the present, of the safety she had found within the walls of the Silver Griffin. "Shhh, it's okay. You're safe," he repeated, his voice a hushed lullaby against the backdrop of the moonlit stable.

  Gradually, Cassandra's sobs subsided into trembling breaths. Thomas's presence, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, anchored her to the present, away from the horrors of the past. She pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek. "He was drunk," she choked out, the words catching in her throat like thorns. "He accused her of...of witchcraft."

  A sob escaped her lips, the memory of her mother's broken body flashing before her eyes. "He said...he said I was...that I was..." The words refused to come, lodged in her throat like a shard of ice. How could she voice the truth that had haunted her for so long, the secret that had shaped her every step and breath?

  But Thomas's steady and unwavering gaze held a warmth that melted the ice, encouraging her to continue. In a hushed whisper, she confessed, "He said I wasn't human."

  Thomas's brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "Not human? You mean he thought you were elven like those guys did outside the stables at Stonebridge?"

  Cassandra nodded, her voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the night. "He said I was next. That's why I had to run, to hide."

  The revelation hung in the air, a fragile bubble of truth threatening to burst. Cassandra's breath hitched, her heart pounded against her ribs. Would he recoil? Would he turn away, his eyes filled with the same fear and disgust she had seen countless times before?

  But it never came.

  Instead, Thomas pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. "Cass," he whispered, his voice a soft caress against the silence, "I don't care what you are." A warmth bloomed in his eyes, chasing away the shadows of doubt and fear that had haunted her for so long. "You're you. That's all that matters," he repeated, his voice firm and unwavering. "And anyway," he added with a mischievous grin, "I think I've known since Stonebridge."

  "Known what?" she asked, her voice trembling.

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  A playful smirk tugged at the corner of Thomas's lips. "That you were an elf, silly." He chuckled softly, the sound a balm to Cassandra's frayed nerves. "But I also knew there was more to your story. Something you were hiding, something that haunted your eyes."

  Cassandra's breath hitched, a wave of relief washing over her. Thomas's words pierced through the darkness that had shrouded her heart, a ray of sunlight breaking through a storm-laden sky. She felt her tense muscles relax, her shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of her secret began to lift.

  "Besides," he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you're not the only one with secrets around here."

  Cassandra's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

  Thomas leaned in closer, his voice a theatrical whisper. "We are all spies.”

  Cassandra laughed, she knew what he was trying to do, to distract her and make her smile and it endeared him to her more for it.

  She looked into his eyes, their depths filled with a warmth and understanding that she had never dared to hope for. She unconsciously leaned into his touch, seeking the comfort she so desperately craved.

  "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I was scared that people would find out, and I'd never be safe again." Fresh tears welled up, a testament to her vulnerability in this moment of truth.

  "Your secret is safe with me," he vowed, his voice a solemn oath in the moonlit stillness.

  Emboldened by his acceptance, Cassandra's words tumbled out, a torrent unleashed. She spoke of the desperate flight through the woods, the fear that clawed at her heels, the gnawing hunger, the bone-deep exhaustion. She confessed the terror of being alone, the uncertainty of her future, the longing for her mother's comforting presence. "He called me a freak," she whispered, her voice cracking with the raw emotion of a wounded animal. "He said that I wasn't his daughter. That I was...."

  Thomas stiffened, his expression hardening as his grip on her tightened.

  Cassandra's heart plummeted. She had lied to Thomas in more ways than one, and now he knew. Could her timing be any worse? With his arms wrapped around her, comforting her, she had betrayed his trust.

  "What?" Thomas asked quietly, his voice a low rumble in the darkness.

  A million things wanted to spew from her mouth all at once, making her stutter and stumble, making no coherent sense. "I, uh..., it's not, I mean..., it is, but..."

  "You're not a freak," Thomas murmured, his voice firm. "That man was insane, a murderer. Not the best judge of character."

  She was glad to hear his reassuring words, but that wasn't the reassurance she needed. Doubt clouded her voice as she squeaked out, "Thomas..."

  Thomas pulled back, and for a split second, she thought he would leave her right then. But he just looked down at her, his gaze searching hers. "Look, I don't care if you're half-elf, half-human, boy or girl. You're still you, and that's all that matters."

  His words, a simple declaration of acceptance, were a balm to Cassandra's wounded soul. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow, but of gratitude and relief.

  "Cassandra," she said simply, shyly.

  "Is that your real name?" he asked, looking at her with an indecipherable expression. "Cassandra?"

  "Yes," she breathed, savoring the sound of her actual name on his lips. It felt like a reclaiming of her stolen identity, a piece of herself returned.

  They talked through the night. The hayloft's shadows swallowed their whispers, the moon painting their faces in a palette of silver and blue. Cassandra's words tumbled out in the hushed stillness, a torrent of pain and fear, of secrets held captive for far too long.

  She told Thomas of the hearth fire's cruel glow, the shattering glass, and her mother's broken form. She confessed the words that had pierced her heart like daggers, the accusations that had sent her fleeing into the night.

  Thomas listened intently, his eyes fixed on her face, a silent testament to his unwavering support. When she finished, he reached out, his calloused fingers gently brushing away a tear from her cheek.

  "I'm so sorry, Cassandra," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea..."

  Something shifted between them. The lines of friendship blurred, replaced by a deeper connection, a shared understanding forged in the crucible of pain and vulnerability. Thomas reached out, his calloused fingers tracing the delicate curve of her cheek. "You're safe here, Cass," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll protect you, no matter what."

  Cassandra knew that she had found more than just a friend. She had found a kindred spirit, a fellow outcast who understood the pain of loss and the yearning for acceptance. And as she leaned into his touch, a flicker of hope ignited within her heart.

  Thomas pulled her into a tight embrace, his warmth seeping into her chilled bones. "You're not alone anymore," he murmured. "You have me."

  In the hayloft's quiet intimacy, under the moon's watchful gaze, Cassandra allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She let go of the fear that had haunted her for so long, replaced by a fragile sense of hope.