The sitting room of the House of Wind feels colder than usual, the silence stretched taut like a drawn bow. Nesta stands across from Feyre, her spine straight but her fists clenched. The entire Inner Circle is present—Rhys, Azriel, Amren, Mor, and Cassian—all arranged with unnerving calm. Elain lingers outside, anxious of Nesta's response, and you sit quietly near Feyre, heart pounding, unsure if this is about to help or shatter your sister.

Feyre’s voice is quiet but unwavering. “You will train in the mornings. With Cassian. And in the afternoons, you’ll work in the library beneath the House.”

Nesta’s nostrils flare. “So I’m to be a prisoner.”

“You are not a prisoner,” Rhysand replies evenly. “You may leave whenever you like. But until you can prove that you won’t continue to destroy yourself, this is what we’re offering.”

Nesta’s silence is a blade. Cassian steps forward, something in his eyes flickering.

“This isn’t punishment,” he says softly. “It’s a chance to reclaim yourself.”

Nesta doesn’t meet his gaze. She stares at Feyre. “And if I refuse?”

Feyre’s words cut clean: “Then you can go back to the human lands. We will not fund this life you’ve built for yourself. The drinking, the spending.”

The air is suffocating. No shouting, just steel-clad truth. You feel the weight of it, watching Nesta’s walls crack—if only slightly. All eyes shift as Nesta turns her head slightly, her jaw tight.

The room tightens, everyone waiting in silence for a response.