Tamlin hadn’t meant to wander so far into the human lands. Not this deep. Not this aimless.

But the Spring Court was hollow without voices, without laughter, without her. Even the birds seemed to mourn in silence now. He couldn’t walk through the halls without seeing Feyre’s ghost—couldn’t breathe without tasting regret.

So he left.

He wandered the borders of the mortal realm like a ghost—neither fae nor beast, not truly anything. His court was too quiet. The thorns too thick. And inside him… only ash where spring used to bloom.

The wind shifted.

A scent, unfamiliar and delicate, drifted to him—not quite mortal, not quite magic. Lavender and frost, wildflowers and something older.

He followed it, more out of instinct than curiosity. His senses dulled long ago, but this scent was… new. Untouched. Alive.

Through the trees he stepped, silent as shadow, and found himself on the edge of a sunlit meadow.

There she was.

Kneeling among the blossoms, hair braided loosely down her back. Her dress was soft lilac silk.

She didn’t see him.

Not yet.

She moved like a dream—quiet, slow, careful. She tilted her head to listen to the wind. Her eyes scanned the branches above, searching for birdsong. She smiled to herself, as if savoring the solitude. The moment.

Tamlin’s heart gave a strange, lurching thump.

And then—she turned.

Their eyes met.

The bond shattered into existence.

A blast of color, scent, feeling slammed into his chest. Not like the first time. Not a thread. Not a flicker. This was a tidal wave. A storm. A song sung in a voice he had never heard but somehow knew.