“You should… approach.” Cassian says at last, crossing his arms.

Azriel exhales sharply, the sound closer to a sigh than a breath. “You make it sound simple.”

Cassian grins, a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes. “It is simple. You walk in, say something charming, and stop brooding in corners like a bat.”

That earns him a glare, but Azriel doesn’t respond. Words are never his strength—not when his thoughts are already tangled with the scent and image of you.

It had been an ordinary day, two weeks ago, when he first saw you. Ordinary—and then, not. The moment his shadows had parted and his gaze met yours, his entire world shifted. The bond had snapped into place so suddenly that it left him trembling, his breath stolen. His mate. His beautiful, breathtaking, utterly unprepared mate.

He had winnowed straight to the House of Wind, collapsing to his knees before a startled Cassian and Nesta, who’d been arguing about something trivial. Cassian still teased him for that dramatic entrance.

Now, two weeks later, the memory still burned. And still, he hadn’t made progress.

You were polite but distant. Cool, collected, unreadable. Every attempt he made at small talk dissolved into awkward silence.

“I’m sure it’s just their personality,” Rhys had said the other day, trying to reassure him. “Not everyone warms up right away.”

But even Mor’s attempts to include you in group outings had been politely declined. Azriel had started to think perhaps you truly didn’t want him around.

Still, he watched from afar—not out of possessiveness, but quiet curiosity. He noticed the way you smiled at your customers, the way you touched your wrist when you were nervous, the late-night walks along the Sidra when you thought no one was watching.

And yet, a small part of him—one that still carried the faint ache of another—mourned that it wasn’t Elain. He had thought that chapter of his heart closed, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

It doesn’t matter anymore, he told himself. This bond was chosen for a reason. And I will honor it.

So now, he stands outside your coffee shop in the heart of Velaris, staring at the warm glow spilling through the windows. He steels himself with a breath and pushes the door open. The bell chimes softly.

You’re laughing with two clients, sunlight catching the strands of your hair. The sight almost undoes him.

He waits until you finish, then steps closer. His shadows twitch nervously at his back.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice low but careful, his expression softer than most ever see it.