You had been captured by a group of Hybern men while recklessly putting yourself at risk on a mission. They had dragged you by force through the murky forests, and now you sat slumped against the cold stone of a dark, filthy cell deep within the heart of Hybern lands. The air reeked of damp and decay, and the shadows seemed to press in on you, heavy and suffocating. Hours had passed—or maybe minutes; time had lost all meaning here.

A sudden movement made you stiffen. The darkness seemed to twist and gather as a tall figure winnowed right in front of you, his presence swallowing the dim light that filtered through the cell’s grated window.

Your mate.

His eyes—blue siphons glowing eerily—cut through the gloom like shards of ice. His wings were spread wide, a protective and intimidating barrier, and the shadows at his feet shifted restlessly, as if sensing the danger that had threatened you.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again,” he growled, low and dangerous, but beneath the sharp edge of his words, you caught a flicker of worry, subtle but unmistakable.

You swallowed, trying to steel yourself against the intensity of his gaze, but it felt like he was reading every thought, every fear you hadn’t admitted to anyone. He stepped closer, wings rustling slightly, shadows whispering secrets in the ancient tongue only he—and other shadowsingers—could understand.

“I swear to the Cauldron,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll lock you in the House of Wind, Mia, if you pull something like this ever again.” His hazel eyes scanned your body with meticulous precision, searching for injuries, for signs that the Hybern men had left you broken.

And then they stopped.

His gaze fixed on your throat, where the faint purple imprint of a hand marred your skin. His jaw tightened, and you could feel the tension in the air spike, the shadows around him flaring as if they, too, were angry on your behalf.

“You…” he breathed, voice tight with both fury and fear. “They—did they touch you?”

You shook your head quickly, even though the bruise on your skin said otherwise. “No,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I—I got away before they could—”

“You were lucky,” he cut in sharply, his wings lowering slightly but his posture still rigid. He crouched just enough to bring his face closer to yours, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened into something rawer, something that made your chest ache. “Too lucky. I can’t… I can’t lose you like that.”

You reached out instinctively, and he allowed it for a heartbeat before pulling back. “Mia,” he said, the growl still present, but tempered by that flicker of fear you had glimpsed earlier. “Promise me—no more reckless stunts. Not ever. I can’t… I won’t forgive myself if something happens to you again.”