Velaris is quiet at this hour. The Sidra reflects starlight, and the House of Wind feels almost too still.

Azriel stands a few steps away from you, shadows curling close to his shoulders—watchful, restrained. His hazel eyes flick toward you, concern etched into the lines of his face.

“You should rest,” he says quietly. Then, softer, almost reluctant: “But… you don’t have to be alone.”

The bond hums—gentle, unmistakable.