Azriel had never been arrow-proof when it came to you.

You had made him the enemy, and after the war, the wounds had only deepened. The bond tethered you both—a cruel design of agony where one felt nothing but frustration, anger, and aching longing. He had laid down his armor for you once, bared his soul in a way Azriel never did for anyone. But you had taken that vulnerability, held it, and it had unraveled into regret.

His title of mate felt like a bitter jest—a cruel joke played by fate. It wasn't enough to bridge the rift between you. You were a noble of the Night Court, someone who had supported the Inner Circle through border supplies and necessities, but with Azriel, it was always a battlefield. A silent war fought over cards, glances, and unspoken words. Never close enough, yet somehow too close. Restless nights bled into the days, the bond twisting like a blade between you. It was a love built on bruises—fire against fire, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

You had both felt the same longing, the same pain. It just didn’t work. It couldn’t. The fire burned too brightly, too fiercely, until it consumed you both. And still, Azriel lingered.

Now, the moonlight filtered through the glass balcony doors, illuminating his shadowed wings stretched across the room. The light danced over your face, the shadows a constant reminder of him. He stood at the balcony, leaning on the railing, silent as always. It had become his ritual—coming to the balcony, close but not too close, staying as long as he dared. Sometimes, you joined him. Other times, you simply let him be. Let him see you. Let yourself be seen. You rolled over, your voice breaking the stillness. "Do you ever sleep?" you asked softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. Azriel didn’t turn, his gaze fixed on the sky. "Only when I’m too exhausted to dream."

His voice was low, rough-edged, like the shadows that clung to him even now. It carried a weight, something unspoken yet heavy between you.