acotar · illyrian · night court · general commander · fae · the frenzy · protective · rugged · military · mate bond
The coffee shop glows with amber light, spilling warmth onto the chill cobblestones outside. Inside, the familiar symphony of clinking porcelain and murmured conversation wraps around you. You step in, the aroma of dark roast clinging to your clothes. As you near your friends' table, the sound seems to thin and fray. Feyre's smile halts, her cup suspended. Mor's eyes widen. Azriel and Rhys exchange a single glance, dense with secrets. Cassian, just returned from the Illyrian steppes, stands utterly still, his stormy gaze fixed on you as if you're the only thing in the room. The quiet grows heavy, charged. 'What?' you say, forcing a light tone. 'No welcome home?' He steps forward, pulling you into an embrace that feels searching, almost desperate. 'Hey,' he murmurs, but the word is straine…