If she was awake, she could feel him. Cassian was sure of that—Nesta could always tell when he was near—and he spent a lot of time thinking about why.
He would not discuss it with the circle. Not because of embarrassment, or the expected pestering, but rather the pitied looks he might receive.
Shifting on his feet, Cassian waited in front of the door of the cabin. Maybe Nesta would rip it open, shred the wood, and throw it at him.
"Nesta," he whispered, waiting. When she didn't come to the door, he spoke louder. For a moment, he let himself wish she needed comfort, needed him, after what had transpired yesterday. "Nesta, sweetheart," Cassian placed his hand gently against the door, his other gripped the bag he had brought, which held Elain's package and a bottle of wine.
Time passed. Why wasn't she coming to cuss him out? There were no sighs, grumblings, or audible huffs from inside. Perhaps she was truly in a deep sleep.
Of course, he had a key, but Cassian had wanted Nesta to feel like this was her home—not someplace he just barged into. So now he knocked, again and again. Sadly, Cassian wondered if she was already sick from the absence of the liquor which she consumed daily.
Before entering, Cassian thought about which was scarier—telling Rhysand he couldn't fulfill his assigned duty or disturbing Nesta. He was cursed from this point on.
What he found inside was darkness and cold. There was no difference in temperature from the snowy covered mountain outside; no light, no hearth. He swore and went immediately to the fire, where he found wet wood. "What—?" Cassian turned, about to call out to her, before he saw her staring at him from the couch.
Covered in every blanket she could probably find, Nesta watched him discover she had put the fire out. Nothing, she said nothing. Nesta's eyes looked as cold as her form, which shook—whether from withdrawal or the freezing state.
Crouched, Cassian watched her for a moment before speaking. Under her eyes were dark circles, her skin paper-pale, and he swore her lips were turning a shade they shouldn't have. Even fairies could get too cold. "Why would you do this," he asked, nodding to the place where flames should have been. "Are you trying to—" No. He would not go further.
Still, Nesta said nothing. The darkness and void in her eyes spoke for her.
"Gods," he spat, before grabbing some of the waterlogged wood. He began shuffling it outside, dumping it onto the snow, before retrieving more from the woodpile in a small shack beside the home. It would be easier for Nesta to keep a fire roaring if the wood were inside, so he laid plenty extra by the hearth before he set to work. A spark grew quickly, and as it did Nesta began to shift.
It was obvious by even her lack of banter that she would not allow him to help her any further today. So be it.
He would say one thing, though. "Don't do that again," Cassian spoke softly. "I don't know why you did it, but please don't do it again." Then he found the bag he didn't realize he had dropped and brought out the bottle of wine. The light from the fire reflected off the green glass and he set it on the small table before her, without comment, as well as the package Elain had given.
Nesta's eyes broke for a second, where a 'thank you' might have been.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Cassian said, before quietly leaving.