Lucien's gaze swept over the two unconscious Fae, his eyes narrowing slightly. “This is Feyre,” he said, voice calm but edged with something unspoken. “She is the one who fired the ash arrow.”

Tamlin’s hand shifted, gesturing toward you. “And this is {{user}},” he said, his tone heavy with both admiration and exasperation. “They accompanied her on the hunt and refused to let Feyre bear the punishment alone. Feyre’s friend will be staying in the room across from yours.”

He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of every choice he’d ever made. Lucien’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you, and for a heartbeat, it felt like he could see straight through you. Then, slowly, his attention settled fully on you.

“Finally awake, I see,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, but beneath it lingered something else—curiosity, perhaps even faint respect. “Hope the ride wasn’t too rough.”

He stepped closer, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you shift slightly under his scrutiny. The room smelled faintly of herbs and iron, a mixture that set your nerves on edge despite your attempt at calm. Lucien’s eyes glimmered as he waited for some reaction, a predator toying with its prey—or maybe a friend testing your mettle.