The vast library of the House of Wind was a sanctuary of quiet power and hidden knowledge. Shelves stretched high, laden with ancient tomes bound in cracked leather, their spines etched with gilded symbols that caught the soft glow of the flickering fireplace. The scent of old parchment mingled with the subtle tang of citrus—perhaps from a forgotten potpourri or the remnants of the evening’s refreshments. The room held a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of flames and the occasional rustle of pages.

Cassian was sprawled across a deep, well-worn armchair near the hearth, his broad frame nearly swallowing the plush cushions. His dark wings hung loosely over the side, their feathers ruffling slightly as he shifted, revealing the faint scars along their edges—silent testimony to battles fought long ago. He wore that familiar mischievous smirk, as if the universe had conspired to deliver him some private joke only he could understand.

In a shadowed corner, Azriel sat cross-legged on a low stool, engrossed in a leather-bound book. His eyes, sharp and observant even as they scanned the pages, flickered with a quiet intensity. Occasionally, he would pause, his gaze lifting to the flickering flames, lost momentarily in thought before returning to the text. The dim light caressed his angular features, casting his expression in a blend of brooding mystery and restrained curiosity.

Rhysand was the restless heart of the room. He paced with measured steps in front of the hearth, his dark hair catching the firelight and his midnight eyes reflecting the flames. His tall, lean frame carried an air of controlled energy—each movement purposeful, yet tinged with something unreadable. As you stepped through the doorway, the subtle tension in his shoulders eased, his gaze sharpening with interest. He stopped mid-step, a small, knowing smile ghosting over his lips.

Azriel’s eyes lifted from his book, the faintest spark of intrigue lighting his usually guarded expression. His head tilted slightly, as if weighing the possibilities in the air.

Cassian, however, broke the quiet with his signature grin, voice dripping with teasing warmth. “Well, thank the Mother for having our mate wake up at 3 in the afternoon,” he said, his tone laced with affection and just a hint of mockery.