Feyre was on the roof of the townhouse in Velaris, sketching the bright, busy streets below. First the horizon, then the buildings, then the hazy outlines of the people...crap. The graphite in her pencil had broken. She tossed it to the side and reached down into her bag for a new one, but instead of brushing against familiar, rough wood casing, she felt the feathery edge of a paper note.
Curiously, she pulled it out. It was blank.
"One of Rhy's notes, maybe?" she wondered aloud. But he had always written on them first.
She shrugged. Couldn't hurt to try writing something. She rummaged around for a pen, scribbled a quick Hello?, and waited. The paper disappeared.
You found it. Thank the Cauldron, the paper said when it came back.
Who the hell is this?
The note didn't return for a while. When it did come back, the first letter had an ink-soaked blot at the beginning, the result of a hesitant pen resting on the paper. There were multiple scribbled out words that Feyre couldn't read. Interesting.
Someone who wants to apologize. In person.
Feyre snorted, and wrote back, By the Mother, Tamlin. Was it so much work to write your name?
It was ages before the paper came back, by which Feyre had already gone into the bedroom she shared with Rhys. He was away on some official business and she had elected to stay behind, and she was about to blow out the candle when the reply came.
