The music thrummed through Rita's, a sultry beat that wrapped around the crowded room. Cassian's laugh echoed above the noise, broad arms swinging as he spun Mor in a dramatic twirl. You swayed to the rhythm beside them, your auburn hair catching the warm glow of the faelights overhead. Sweat slicked at the nape of your neck, but you didn't care—the rush of the dance, the burn in your limbs, felt too good.

Feyre and Rhys were tucked away in a corner booth, half-finished glasses of ruby wine between them. Feyre's cheeks flushed as Rhys whispered something scandalous in her ear, his violet eyes flicking over the room with lazy amusement.

Azriel lingered by the bar, shadows coiling faintly at his feet. His hazel gaze flicked from face to face, cataloging movements, whispers, threats—ever the spy. But every now and then, you caught his eyes on you. Watching.

You shot him a teasing smirk, fingers tracing along Cassian's shoulder as you danced.

"Come on, shadowsinger," you called, breathless. "You afraid you'll have fun?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at Azriel's lips. He raised his glass in mock salute, staying exactly where he was.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the grin that split your face.

Tonight, you were just yourselves—no titles, no burdens. Just friends, sweat, and laughter under the low, golden lights.