The next week went by slowly, the mid-July weather pushing Feyre to order a few new summer dresses online with some of the money from her check. She'd never been one to love shopping, but it felt good to choose new clothes for herself, to pay for them with her own money, and try them on when they arrived.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, appraising the way that short dress with long sleeves looked on her. She liked the way the dark blue color of the fabric made the red and yellow embroideries stand out, bringing just enough color to the outfit for her to love it. Maybe it was a little stupid to give so much importance to something as simple as trying on a new dress, but looking at herself in the mirror, she felt like she was finally seeing herself again. This wasn't a gift from Tamlin, or one of Nesta's old outfits, or something that Mor had bought for her during an emergency. This was completely hers, and she couldn't help but grin at herself in the mirror.

She heard the front door open, and her smile only intensified. She left her room and climbed down the stairs, only to find that Rhys had already gone to the kitchen. He was taking a soda out of the fridge when she entered.

"Hi."

"Hi," he turned to look at her, and she saw his eyes swipe along her body with a smile. "Is that the dress you ordered on Saturday?"

She nodded. "It came while you were out."

"You look good," he said with a smile, and she grinned.

"Thanks."

He handed her the unopened can of soda and grabbed a new one for himself. She propped herself up on the table, opened the can, and said:

"How was your afternoon with Mor?"

His shoulders slumped a little, and he took a seat at the table beside her.

"It was good. Pretty fun."

But he didn't elaborate at all, and she could see the way his smile seemed forced.

"You don't look like you had fun."

He looked up at her, his beautiful eyes looking more sad than she'd seen them in a while.

"I did. I missed Mor so much, it was great to finally see her again."

"But…?"

He sighed. "But… I don't know. I spent two years thinking about seeing my family again, and now I feel like I don't belong with them. Spending time with them makes me so happy, but they don't know who I am anymore."

"And… you don't want to tell them?" Tell them what he'd told her that night on the terrace, and other nights since. All those stories of his time undercover, all the things he'd witnessed and maybe even more importantly, all the things he'd done.

He just shrugged. "I don't think I'm ready to tell them much, just yet. It's so hard, trying to fit back into my old life as if nothing happened, as if the last two years weren't the hardest of my life. Now I'm back and I'm supposed to act as if everything is okay, and I just don't know how to do that."

"You know," Feyre started, "I don't think you have to act as if nothing happened. I don't think they're expecting you to not have changed in the past two years."

"But Mor and the others…I don't think they realize how bad it was, and I don't want to burden them with all that."

"I'm sure they would never see you as a burden, Rhys. But I understand how you feel." She looked away for a moment, not sure of how best to express what she wanted to say. Rhys waited, looking at her and taking slow sips from his soda as she thought. "I'm not saying that what happened to me with Tamlin is in any way comparable to what you went through on your mission. But I feel the same way about my family. I want to act with them the same way I used to but… the truth is that I don't know how. I don't want to tell them about everything that he did to me, not right away, anyway."

"Are you saying you want to act like those things didn't happen to you?".

"No, that's not what I mean. I don't want to lie to them, but.." she had a hard time finding her words. "I don't think I'm ready to tell them all the details, you know."

He nodded.

"I know."

They drank in silence for a little while, before Rhys said.

"You know Feyre, if you wanted to talk to me about what happened… About any of it, you know that you can, right?"

"I know," she answered in a more quiet voice. "And I would like that. Very much. But I just… I have no idea where to start."

Rhys sat up in his chair, letting both his elbows rest on the table as he answered.

"How about what happened the night you left, when he destroyed your painting?"

And so she talked. She started with that night, describing what happened, but also how she had felt, the anguish that had taken her over when she'd realized he'd seen her painting, the fear and pain when he'd grabbed her wrists. Then she talked about other things, other moments. The times he would break plates while they were cooking, and throw books on the floor of the living room, the way he would mock her whenever she'd be tired because of her job, the casual but persistent need he had to make her cancel her plans with her friends.

They moved to the living room at one point, and, sitting beside Rhysand on the couch, her legs folded back under herself, Feyre told him about reducing her hours at the bakery to make more time for Tamlin, she told him about breaking her laptop and never bothering to buy a new one because he insisted she didn't need one anyway, she told him about wearing less makeup than before, and giving away her favorite clothes because he didn't like her going out in them.

She brushed away tears more than once, and more than once did she take breaks during which Rhys would hold her hand, bring her water, let her cry against his shoulder when things became too much.

But finally, she reached a point where she didn't want to talk anymore, so she simply let out a deep breath. She felt exhausted, but also much more at peace than she had been before.

She had no idea how long they stayed that way, both sitting together on the couch, holding each other's hand in perfect silence. She was amazed at herself, at how much she had let out, things she hadn't even realized were hurting her at the time. She still felt raw and sad, and she knew that a single talk wouldn't be enough for her to heal from what had happened… but still, in this moment, after having shared so much of herself with Rhys, she felt better.

Feyre woke up the next morning with a single thought in mind. An idea that scared her, more than she wanted to admit, but that she knew was the right one. She got up, quickly slipped on a dress and got down to the kitchen, where she found Rhys preparing coffee in his pajamas. He handed her a mug and they both took a seat at the table.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, and she answered with a smile.

"I'm feeling okay. Rhys, I made my decision. You can call your detective friend, I'll testify."