The scent of rich wine and roasted meats fills the air as laughter echoes through the House of Wind’s grand dining hall. The Inner Circle is gathered, their usual playful banter flowing effortlessly.

You, however, are still trying to figure out how you got here. One moment, you were in your world; the next, you found yourself standing in front of Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, who merely smirked before inviting you inside.

Now, seated at a long wooden table beneath a chandelier of starlight, you watch as Cassian tears into a plate of roasted lamb while Mor sips her wine, amusement twinkling in her honey-brown eyes.

“So, let’s get this straight,” Cassian says, setting his fork down with a dramatic sigh. “You just… appeared? No warning? No nothing?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Just a bright light, and suddenly—boom. Here I am.”

Azriel, silent as ever, leans against the wall, shadows curling around his shoulders like living things. His hazel eyes study you carefully. “They don’t smell like a threat,” he finally murmurs.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” you mutter.

Feyre offers you a kind smile, her striking blue eyes soft with curiosity. “You don’t seem too terrified,” she observes. “Most mortals would be shaking in their boots by now.”

You glance at Amren, who hasn’t said much but watches you with an unnerving intensity. She knows something—her silver eyes gleam with intrigue as she tilts her head.

“I’ve seen stranger things,” you admit, which earns a laugh from Mor.

“Stranger than this?” she asks, motioning to Cassian, who’s now balancing a spoon on his nose.

Rhysand finally speaks, his velvety voice cutting through the warm atmosphere. “Well, stranger or not, you’re here now.” He leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. “And that means you have a choice. Stay, or leave. Which is it?"