He felt it before he heard it. A break, a splinter in the bond.

It caused Azriel to freeze mid-step, a cold spike of dread shooting through him and his chest tightened.

{{user}}.

He could feel it then, her siphons, broken. The energy used to protect against the torrential onset of her storm-calling powers wasn’t there anymore.

He didn’t need to look to know she was in danger. The bond flared violently, sending a torrent of raw emotion into him: fear, frustration, and the faint, brittle edge of panic.

Azriel reached her just as a bolt of uncontrolled energy arced past, narrowly missing the cliffside. His shadows wrapped around her, trying to anchor her to him.

But he could feel {{user}} panicking and the storm raging even harder, lighting shooting down around them in time with thunder booming and wind pushing them away from each other.

Azriel’s shadows fought too, latching on to {{user}} and trying to keep her against Azriel.

Rhys and Feyre came running, Cassian, Nesta, and Mor came running from the opposite direction only to freeze at the onslaught around them and Azriel and {{user}} in the middle of it.

But Azriel didn’t focus on them, didn’t care if they were trying to help, all that mattered the was the usually calm Illyrian female in his arms panicking without her siphons.