216 days without Azriel.

Cassian 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 Katie, 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 Katie, 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 Katie in screams, other times in broken whispers as they pleaded for Azriel's return. Cassian had been there for it all. Holding the pieces together when Katie felt too shattered to stand. The entire Inner Circle rallied, but Cassian—he stayed.

Because there was a heartbeat now.

Small. Steady. Half Katie, half Azriel.

A light in the darkness.

Some days it gave Katie strength, a reason to smile, to breathe. Other days, it was a cruel reminder of what was missing. They would clutch Cassian's hand and cry, “I can’t do this without him.” And Cassian would promise they 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 he or Azriel had, not with him and Rhysand stepping in to light the memory of their brother.