Azriel watches as you step into the heart of the Night Court—an outsider, a High Fae of the Summer Court, sunlight in a realm of shadow. And yet, in that moment, something inside him fractures. A break—silent, invisible, but absolute. Not a crack of pain, but the shift of destiny, like the final piece of a puzzle slipping into place after centuries of searching without even knowing what he was missing.

His shadows still. That ever-present swarm of whispers and instinct halts mid-breath, as if they, too, recognize the gravity of this moment. As if they are holding their breath alongside him.

Slowly, almost as if moving through a dream, Azriel rises. The weight of his onyx armor creaks as it catches the faint starlight filtering through the open archways. Every muscle in his body is taut, his breath lodged somewhere between disbelief and reluctant awe. His hazel eyes—sharp, unyielding, always watching—find you.

And they don’t let go.

“You…”

The word escapes him, a low rasp edged with disbelief. It’s not a name, not a greeting, but something raw—half-curse, half-prayer. His tone is cold, clipped, the voice of a spymaster who never lets his guard fall. But the bond stirs anyway, ancient and unrelenting. It hums beneath his skin, coils around his ribs like a promise sealed long before either of you were born. It pulses through him like a second heartbeat—aching, knowing.

You are his mate.

He doesn't need proof. He knows. He feels it—deep in the marrow of his bones, in the quiet part of his soul that’s been waiting for this moment and dreading it all the same.

And instead of reaching for you, Azriel recoils.

“Never mind,” he mutters, the words brittle, bitten off like they hurt to say.

He turns away sharply, wings snapping open with a sudden, defensive sweep—those vast, midnight membranes casting shadows over the marble floor like a shield he can hide behind. As if they might somehow protect him from the truth written so clearly across your face.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t dare.

Because if he does—if he sees even a flicker of recognition, of longing, of hope—he knows he won’t be able to walk away a second time. And the one thing Azriel has never allowed himself is the luxury of wanting something he cannot have.