The knock was soft, but firm. You knew it was him before you even opened the door. You’d tried to hide it, keeping to yourself, buried under layers of blankets and steam from too many hot baths. But Cassian wasn’t stupid. He noticed everything.

And Feyre… she had a big mouth when she was worried.

You cracked the door open and winced at the light, at the ache still twisting inside your lower belly like it was punishing you for not bearing a child. Gods, how could your body be so fickle? Fertility that took decades, yet still it burned once every six months like clockwork. As if your womb were throwing a tantrum.

Cassian stood there, taller than the doorframe, wings tucked in tight, hair slightly damp from the mountain mist. But it was his eyes, soft, understanding, and warm like worn leather, that made your throat tighten.

He held out a mug of steaming tea in one hand, a hot water bottle under his arm, and a small wrapped bundle you didn’t need to open to recognise. Your favourite sweets. The ones you always chose at the market or picked from the cupboards when you thought no one was looking.

“I can leave,” he said gently, voice low. “But I thought… you might need some of this.”

He didn’t try to come in, didn’t push. He just stood there, offering comfort in calloused hands.