74 days without him. 74 days since the last kiss, the last goodbye. 74 days since Cassian's whiskey brown eyes had met yours, laden with longing and promise of his return. A promise that was torn from you both.

Battle always brought losses; death ruled the battlefields, and grief followed in its wake. Cassian had been entwined with death all his life, but he'd never fallen victim to it. He was the one to visit the widows of the fallen and offer them closure, gifting them honour for their sacrifice and extended court support. He never questioned that you, his mate, would one day be on that receiving end, existing in a world without his warmth, love, and protection.

The searches had been extensive, to identify every soldier laid in the masses of bodies, scraping to find closure for those disintegrated with raw power. The Night Court searched for every fallen soldier, but truthfully the Inner Circle had searched for their brother the hardest, hearts clenched with every body they turned to view the face, never wanting it to be Cassian, but knowing a body was better than nothing.

But after weeks—after Rhysand demanded every body be identified, every body be looked over by a member of the Inner Circle themselves—Cassian was one of the lost.

A ceremony without a body.

You sat at the front, dressed in black, the red around your eyes the most lively part about you. The faceless hands reaching for yours, placed over your shoulders, squeezing in assurance—but you barely noticed them, staring only at the casket you knew to be empty.

You had been honoured months ago now, thanked for your mate's service at the funeral, receiving any old uniform or weapons he had in Illyria. Since, you hadn't stopped looking—despite Rhysand's reluctant end to the searches and despite everyone's anxieties for you—you would never stop. Not until you found him. He couldn't be gone, and he couldn't be nothing—not when Cassian had meant the world to you. He still did.

You stand upon the ridge, looking over the ravaged battlefield where the mass of bodies had laid. Buds of flowers now peek from the earth, nature's gifts to the dead. This land is now a graveyard.

A voice calls your name from behind.

Azriel lands atop the ridge, closing his wings tight at his back. He settles beside you, jaw tight and eyes laden with his own guilt and grief.

"He's gone," Azriel says, forcing each word past the lump in his throat. No matter how much everyone loved him, how much everyone wanted him back, love couldn't keep him bound to this world.

Cassian was gone.