[Slid under the door of Hamartia 203 is an envelope, plain in all respects. It is white, and letter sized, and when Wren opens it several pieces of paper will fall out.
One is a bank receipt. It states that some money, a fairly large sum, has been deposited into her bank account, the one she gave Cassidy access to to pay for her services. It is what he would have paid her by the rates she gave him had she charged him for every time they spoke, on the boards or in person, plus a sizable tip.
The other pieces of paper are a letter, handwritten.]
Wren-
I am leaving. I think it's best. I don't think there's anything more for me to do, here.
I have to face facts sometime, I suppose - I am never going to be the sort of person you deserve, the sort of person you could find love for, take that risk you are so frightened of. Despite that, for whatever reason, you endured argument after argument, insult after insult, and you never walked away until last night.
You are owed something for that. The money I left in your account is payment for services rendered. It abides by the rates you gave me, and it follows every rule you set out. You were a confidant and you were a counsel and you were eternally patient with someone who has no patience for anyone, and you ought to get something for that.
I exist in a very dark place, a place I've been living shut in for twelve years, but you have given me something. Even if I was never going to find love from you, I did find something remarkable in and of itself - I can love someone. I can still experience that pain, that exquisite anguish, even if it isn't reciprocated. That, I suppose, is a sign of recovery. Or perhaps I am giving myself too much room for optimism, for once.
I haven't settled on where precisely I am going. Somewhere far from here, I think, somewhere where I don't know anyone. Maybe nothing will change. I hope not. I don't think I can take too much more of this, all of this, the way things have been. I don't know why I came to this world anymore - all of my reasons have fallen away, and left me even more out of compass than I was at the start. All I can do is try something different and see if things fare better there. I will be the same. There is no escaping me. But knowing what I know after living here, just for a few months, I know that things can only be better somewhere else.
I will miss you, even if I doubt you will feel the same way about me, but that is love - love is painful, and it is my own fault for so carefully tearing apart whatever chance I had with you. I was a fool, and you deserve better. I hope you find it.
If you ever need help, all you have to do is call.
-Cass
[If she checks his apartment, she will find it cleared out. He arranged to leave town after they spoke the night before, and the letter was slipped under her door sometime in the small hours of the morning.]