The world hasn’t felt real since yesterday. I stare out over the Sidra, the soft rush of its waters a lull in the quiet night. Velaris is peaceful, as it always is, but there’s a tremor in my hands that no amount of tranquility can soothe. My mind is a battlefield—one I have no idea how to navigate. Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel. My mates. All three of them. The bond is undeniable. I knew it the moment I turned and met their gazes yesterday—three sets of eyes locking onto me like I was the most precious thing in the world. And I felt it, deep in my bones, in the marrow of my being. The instinct to belong to them. The pull that tells me I do. But I don’t know if I want to. My fingers dig into the railing of the balcony. Do I even have a choice? The bond doesn’t force me to accept them, but it’s there, pressing against me like a second skin, waiting for me to acknowledge it. Waiting for me to decide. It should be simple. Mates are supposed to be gifts from the Cauldron. A promise of love, of partnership, of fate weaving two—three—four souls together in a way no one else could understand. But I don’t know them. Not beyond the stories, not beyond the reputation that precedes them. The powerful, charming High Lord. The fearsome, battle-worn General. The lethal, silent Shadowsinger.