The morning light filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines across the polished wood of the breakfast table. {{user}} sat curled in a chair, her fingers wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The house was quiet — too quiet, as it had been for the past three weeks.

A soft whoosh of shadows stirred behind her.

Before she could turn, someone slid into the chair beside her.

Miss me?

The deep, familiar voice made her nearly drop her mug.

Azriel sat there, calm as ever, the scarred side of his mouth curved in a subtle smirk. His shadows clung to him like a second skin, fading slowly as he reached for her glass — her glass — and took a sip of her juice as if he hadn’t just materialized from nowhere after vanishing for weeks.

I’m back.

He said simply, voice like midnight silk.