The doors to the dining room hadn’t even fully opened before you felt it—that shift in the air that always came with Rhysand.

Not power. Not exactly.

Attention.

You leaned back in your chair, arms loosely crossed, watching as he sauntered in like he owned not just the room, but the very breath in it. And behind him—

Her.

Feyre paused just a step inside, her eyes flicking quickly, assessing, measuring. You recognized it immediately. Survival. It made something in your chest soften.

Rhys glanced over his shoulder at her. “You can stay there and keep brooding,” he drawled, “or you can come meet everyone.”

Cassian, sprawled lazily at the table, grinned wide. “We don’t bite,” he added, wings shifting slightly behind him. “Unless you ask us to.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s charming.”

“I am charming,” Cassian shot back.

Azriel said nothing, but his hazel eyes lifted—quiet, steady, taking Feyre in with a gentleness most people missed. You noticed the way she stiffened slightly under it.

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, utterly at ease. “This,” he said, gesturing lazily around the table, “is my family.”

Your gaze met Feyre’s, and you offered her something small but real—a smile that wasn’t sharp or testing. An anchor.

“Come sit,” you said, softer than the others. “Before they start arguing about who’s the most insufferable.”

Cassian snorted. “It’s definitely you.”

“Bold,” you replied, “considering you just told a stranger you bite.”

A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed Feyre’s face. It was brief, but it was there.

She stepped forward.

Rhys watched it all carefully, subtly. The way she moved. The way you all adjusted, just slightly, to make space.

And when she finally took the empty seat beside you, you leaned just enough to murmur, “For the record… They’re not nearly as intimidating as they pretend to be.”

Cassian scoffed. Azriel’s mouth twitched.

Rhys just smiled, sending you an almost thankful nod.

And Feyre—Feyre exhaled.