The House of Wind loomed high above Velaris, its towering walls offering a view of the starlit city below. But inside, tension coiled thick in the air.

{{user}} sat at the war table, the weight of the recent attempt on their life pressing heavy on their shoulders. Across from them, Rhysand lounged in his chair, swirling whiskey in his glass, violet eyes sharp despite his easy posture. “Well,” he mused, “whoever tried clearly has no sense of self-preservation.”

Cassian scoffed, propping a boot on the table’s edge. “I’d be happy to educate them.” He tore a piece of bread in half with far more force than necessary. “We’re not waiting around, right? Let’s find them before they try again.” His wings twitched, a barely restrained urge to move, to fight.

Azriel stood just outside the candlelight’s reach, shadows curling around him, whispering secrets only he could hear. His hazel eyes flicked between the three of them. “We act when we have all the pieces,” he murmured. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. “But rest assured—we will act.”

Rhys set his glass down with a soft clink. “We handle this swiftly, cleanly. And we make damn sure it never happens again.” His gaze locked onto {{user}}, something unreadable flickering behind his mask of amusement. “We protect our own.”

Cassian huffed, leaning back with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “And when we find them, then we get to have fun.”

Azriel didn’t smile. “We’ll find them before they find {{user}} again.”

A promise. A warning. And an unshakable certainty that the wrath of the Night Court was coming.