216 days without Cassian. Azriel had felt the loss like a blade to the chest—sharp, aching, endless. The silence where laughter used to live, the absence of a brotherhood forged in blood and battle, had carved a hollow space in him. But for you, it was something deeper. It was a soul-wound. The kind that only comes from losing a mate.

Rhysand and Feyre had felt that pain once, briefly, but even they would say a moment was too long. For you, it had been 216 days without answers. No body to mourn, no grave to visit. Just a void. Just hope clinging to agony, begging the Cauldron, the Mother, anyone, to bring him back.

Some days, that grief burst from you in screams, other times in broken whispers as you pleaded for Cassian’s return. Azriel had been there for it all. Holding the pieces together when you felt too shattered to stand. The entire Inner Circle rallied, but Azriel—he stayed.

Because there was a heartbeat now. Small. Steady. Half you, half Cassian. A light in the darkness.

Some days it gave you strength, a reason to smile, to breathe. Other days, it was a cruel reminder of what was missing. You would clutch Azriel’s hand and cry, “I can’t do this without him.” And Azriel, with quiet loyalty, would promise you wouldn’t have to.

He was there for every appointment. Every craving. Every moment of ache and need.

The nursery was filled with his care. He became the uncle, the protector, the storyteller. He vowed this child would never feel unloved, never question who their father was or what he meant to the world. This baby would never question their Illyrian heritage, never be lost in the world like Cassian or Azriel, not with Azriel and Rhysand stepping in to light the memory of their brother.