Azriel was dreading this. He was dreading this more than anything. He didn’t want to come back here, he’d rather die. Yet here he was.

He walked with you, Cassian, and Mor along the dirt road leading to the Illyrian training camps that he long since abandoned. This sick place, filled with vile males who abused and bred their women like property and beat their children. He loathed this place. The place he swore he’d never return to.

He glanced at you here and there, worried sick for what would happen, or what you’d witness.

Since the moment he met you, he suspected you were his mate, but no bond had ever snapped in place. Yet, he told himself. Yet. But in the meantime, he swore he’d protect you and be the friend you’d always need.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, the harsh winter air biting his skin. His shadows grew restless and agitated as the walk continued, clearly expressing his inner turmoil of returning to the place that abused him and Cassian their entire adolescence.