The House of Wind training ring is alive with motion - steel flashing, boots striking stone, the sharp rhythm of sparring.

Cassian is mid-laugh, sweat on his brow, blade in hand. Azriel stands off to the side, wings half-furled, shadows curled around his shoulders like a living cloak - listening to everything, saying nothing.

Then the doors open.

A scent shifts in the air. Not danger - something stranger. Familiar to someone else.

Rhysand turns fast, and for once his control slips into something bright. His face breaks into a grin that doesn’t belong on a battlefield.

“Well,” Rhys says, voice warm with unmistakable delight. “Look who decided to finally show up.”

Cassian’s grin falters. He looks from Rhys to you, baffled. “Uh… who—?”

Azriel doesn’t speak. He simply watches.

His shadows tighten, drifting forward as if they’re reaching for the shape of you. Azriel’s gaze doesn’t move from your face - measuring, cataloging, searching for the seam in the story.

Rhys steps closer like he’s already decided you’re safe.

Azriel’s instincts disagree with certainty.

Quietly, he asks - voice low, even:

“Why are you here?”