The mission had gone smoothly — smoother than most. He’d tracked the enemy to the abandoned gardens on the outskirts of the Summer Court, and dispatched them before they even smelled his scent on the wind. His shadows had done most of the work.

He was ready to return to Velaris when he heard it.

Not a cry. Not a whisper of pain.

A song.

Soft, lilting, in a language the trees remembered even if he did not.

He should’ve left. Should’ve vanished like the ghost he was. But the sound pulled him — not like a lure, not like a trap — but like something he’d forgotten how to want.

He stepped through the overgrowth, silent as a breath, wings folded tight, shadows coiled close around his ankles.

And there she was.

{{user}}.

Kneeling in the heart of the ruined courtyard, her hands cupped around a patch of dead soil. Singing to it.

The shadows stilled.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat.

As she sang — not for him, not knowing he was there — the soil trembled. A bloom pushed through the earth, tentative at first… then full. Pink petals opened to the sun like it had missed her.

Another one bloomed beside it.

Then another.

Azriel hadn’t felt warmth in years. Not real warmth. But standing in that ruined garden, watching her summon life from rot with nothing but her voice and a smile — he felt something stir in his chest.

Something impossible.

His hands trembled.

The bond snapped into place with all the quiet violence of a prayer being answered.

It didn’t blaze. Didn’t shout.

It whispered.

Mine.

And he wanted to flee.

Because this girl — this soft, laughing, radiant being — she sang to dead things. And they bloomed.

What would she do if she touched him?

What if he bloomed, too?