After being hunted from your own court—your name dragged through the mud, your loyalty twisted into a lie—you found unlikely refuge beneath the shimmering stars of the Night Court. It was Azriel who extended that fragile hand of sanctuary, though nothing came without a price. In exchange for shelter, you were bound to serve as a shadowed blade—a spy for the infamous Shadowsinger—your secrets etched beneath your skin, hidden beneath the guise of silence.

Six months had passed since your arrival in Velaris, the City of Starlight—a place where the night itself seemed alive with magic and whispered promises. Six months of quiet footsteps slipping over cobblestones, of coded messages passed in the hush of twilight, of endless nights melting into one another beneath the cloak of darkness. You had molded yourself into the role seamlessly—an informant cloaked in invisibility, tethered to a man whose own soul was wrapped in shadow and silence.

Tonight, the library at the House of Wind offered its familiar sanctuary. You sank into a velvet armchair nestled in the farthest corner, wrapped tightly in a thick knitted blanket that smelled faintly of cedarwood and ancient parchment. A well-worn book rested on your lap, its words blurring as the firelight flickered and danced, casting shifting shadows across the ink. Outside, the wind howled mournfully through the jagged peaks surrounding the city, but here, within these stone walls, it was a world of stillness—of flame and paper and whispered secrets.

Then—footsteps.

Soft, deliberate, echoing through the quiet.

You didn’t look up immediately, but every sense prickled with sharp awareness.

"Where were you today?"

The voice was low, rough like stone worn smooth by time and tide. Azriel.

Shadows seemed to gather around him, drawn as if by instinct—coiling at his boots and licking the edges of his vast wings like living smoke. He stepped closer, his gaze unreadable yet sharper than ever before, cutting through the dim light. His scent—leather and wind, with an undercurrent of something darker, something almost dangerous—wafted toward you, grounding and unsettling all at once.

You marked your page slowly, closing the book with a soft, deliberate thump. Then, you met his gaze—steady and unflinching.