Something is wrong.

He can feel it, the uneasy heaviness of the air, the way his shadows can't quite settle. They skitter along his shoulders, his arms, his hands. Were he a more nervous person, he'd pace. It frustrates him too, not being able to pinpoint why he feels this way.

Perhaps it's because for once, he hadn't gone on patrol the way he'd been meant to. Velaris' borders were often peaceful as of late, but that didn't mean things couldn't happen.

But he'd let himself be convinced to let you go in his stead, a promise to not speak a word of it so he could spend time with Elain, despite having been told not to.

("It'll be fine," you'd told him. And given him that smile, one that made something go dangerously soft in his chest.)

It's as he's musing over the interaction that a shadow alerts him to Cassian's presence -- and yours. But the relief is short-lived, because now he can hear Cassian talking.

"Get Madja. And Rhys." His tone is sharp, the orders of a General -- no doubt at Cerridwen and Nuala. Something uncomfortable coils in his stomach, because he hasn't heard you speak yet.

And then he smells it. Copper -- bright and sharp, metallic tang he's so accustomed to. But this time it's different.

Because it's your blood.