The skies above Velaris were painted with twilight’s last colors, fading into the starry expanse of the night. Rhysand stood on the marble balcony of the House of Wind, the cool breeze rustling his dark hair, but his mind was far from calm. His violet eyes fixed on a distant figure: you.

You were supposed to be Hybern’s ace, their hidden weapon. The perfect spy. For months, you'd walked freely in his court, an outsider among the shadows of the Night Court, gathering intelligence and reporting back to Hybern. You’d played the role well—cold, sharp, untouchable—but not well enough to escape Rhysand’s keen senses. From the start, he had known you were more than you seemed. But what no one, not even the spymaster, knew was that Rhys had been watching you much more closely than anyone suspected. And now, after all this time, he was going to get the answers he wanted.

Tonight, you were unaware of his approach, standing by the fire in the hall that led out to the balcony. Your posture was tense, as though you felt the weight of an impending storm. Rhys watched, silent, as you let out a slow breath, your eyes flickering toward the stars, a hint of regret in your gaze.

Guilt.

It was something Rhysand recognized well. That look on your face—it had been haunting you for weeks, months even, ever since you'd made the decision that put your life in jeopardy.

Betraying Hybern. Helping the Night Court. A dangerous, delicate game you played, feeding the enemy false information while subtly guiding Rhysand and his court to victory. You'd given Hybern enough to keep them convinced, but never enough to cause true harm. Each step closer you took toward Rhysand’s inner circle, the harder it became to ignore the gnawing pull inside you—the undeniable connection between you and the High Lord himself.

“You think you can play both sides, little spy?” Rhys’ voice was a low, dangerous purr as he closed the distance between you. His wings flared, blocking the moonlight, leaving only the shadows of the two of you.