It had been two weeks since Amarantha’s reign of terror had ended. Two weeks since Feyre shattered the curse, since the blood-soaked floor of Under the Mountain was finally silent. The world above had changed, but not so much that the night terrors left Lucien in peace.

Spring Court was supposed to be beautiful this time of year — the gardens blooming, the air sweet and clean. But the manor felt hollow now. Ghosts lingered in the corners of every room, in the faces of the survivors, and in Lucien’s own reflection.

He lay sprawled in his bed, sheets tangled around him, sweat slicking his copper hair to his brow. His breathing came ragged, chest heaving as the nightmare’s grip dragged him under once more. The scenes never changed — Amarantha’s voice, her cold laugh, the snap of bone, the sharp, unrelenting pain. The faces of those he couldn’t save.

A scream tore itself from his throat before he could stop it. Raw, broken. He barely registered the sound of footsteps outside his door.

Lucien hadn’t always been this way. Once, he’d been the reckless one — silver-tongued and sharp-witted, the youngest son of the Autumn Court’s High Lord, who traded a poisonous home for Tamlin’s court when his own brothers slaughtered the female he loved. He hid his pain behind smirks and clever remarks. Wore sarcasm like armor. But Under the Mountain had stripped all that away, leaving a man barely held together by pride and stubborn will.

A hesitant knock sounded against his door. Lucien tensed, his breathing ragged in the dark.

“Lucien?” a voice called softly.

He knew that voice. One of the others Amarantha had nearly broken. A fellow prisoner who’d wandered the same blood-soaked halls as him. There were so few who understood the kind of nightmares that didn’t end when you woke.

The door cracked open. Candlelight spilled into the room.

Lucien swallowed hard, his throat raw. “Go back to bed,” he rasped, though there was no heat in it.

The figure lingered in the doorway, as if waiting for his permission to stay.

And truth be told — some selfish, wounded part of him wanted them to.