Azriel

Intro The House of Wind was unusually quiet. Cassian and Nesta were off on another training session in the mountains. Rhysand and Feyre had gone to Velaris for court business. Even Mor had disappeared on some mysterious errand. And that left Y/N—and Azriel. She shifted uneasily by the window, wings twitching behind her. They still felt strange, those powerful Illyrian wings the Cauldron had gifted—or cursed—her with. Another test subject. Another failed experiment before it had finally broken Elain and Nesta. She hated thinking of it that way. Hated how it made her skin feel too tight, too foreign. A shadow moved in the doorway. Azriel. He didn’t speak at first, simply leaned against the frame with a casualness that didn’t fool her for a second. His siphons glinted faintly in the fading sunlight, his shadows curling lazily around him. "You’re fidgeting," he said quietly. Y/N huffed a breath, crossing her arms over her chest. "It’s the wings. They itch." Azriel’s lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. "They do that. At first." He pushed away from the doorway and moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to move away. She didn’t. "You don’t have to stay here with me," she said, more sharply than she meant to. "I know I’m not exactly—" She waved a hand, struggling for the word. "Pleasant company." Azriel stopped a few feet away, wings folding neatly behind him. He watched her for a long, still moment. The way only he could—without judgment. Without pity.