She had her own apartment nestled in the bustling heart of the city, a sanctuary she cherished far more than this sprawling house. As she crept past Cassian's door, a shiver coursed through her. Rhys's decision to discuss war strategies had driven her here when she had offered to meet the Dredger; it felt simpler to be close by, just in case she was needed.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent her laundry bin tumbling down the stairs, laughter bubbling up as it skidded to a stop three feet into the hall below. But as she glanced back at Cassian's door, warmth flooded her with memories shared and laughter echoed, only to fade as reality crashed over her like a tide. The ghosts of their past lingered, reminding her of the chasm that now separated them.

Months had passed before she could finally leave her apartment after everything that had transpired. Learning to walk again had felt like navigating a treacherous maze, each step a painful reminder of the scars etched into her being. Dressing herself had become a torturous endeavor, the sensation of fabric against her skin igniting flashes of anguish—memories of the fire and the pain still haunted her, searing deep into her soul.

They had done what they could, to heal her external wounds. They couldn't take away her phantom pain. They couldn't take away the sound of fire liking flesh and bone, of beasts screeching as they burned. Of Cassian, screeching as she made him burn. All of him.

When she finally summoned the courage to venture out, it was under the cloak of night. The drunken souls and restless spirits wandering the streets wouldn't mind her limping through the shadows; at least, that's what she told herself. She frequented the bars, seeking a semblance of company, yet she kept everyone at arm's length—no one could breach her fortress of solitude. Not until he returned.

One fateful night, Cassian settled beside her at the bar, his presence like a spark in the dim light. He ordered a drink, then a second, and turned to her with a casual smile, offering one as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She accepted, her heart a storm of uncertainty as she gripped her knife with her other hand, readying herself for whatever he might bring. If he had come to finish what had begun, she would not go down without a fight.

But instead of a threat, he merely handed her another drink, and they sat together in silence—two souls bound by unspoken pain. It took her a while to notice the weariness etched into his features, the way his shoulders had slumped as if the weight of the world rested upon them. He seemed older somehow, more exhausted, as if he, too, bore scars hidden from view.

"You left..." Her voice was not accusatory; it held an understanding that cut deeper than any blame. She knew all too well why he busied himself elsewhere, how the shadows of responsibility pulled him away.

"I had business to attend in Illyria..." he murmured, his gaze fixed on the empty glass before him. He ordered another, the clink of glass echoing in the dim light. As she downed her second drink, she turned to face him fully. It struck her then—he was hurting, perhaps as much as she was. His hands lay motionless on the bar, and when his new drink arrived, she couldn't help but watch them, tracing the familiar path up his arms. Memories flooded back, each more vivid than the last.

She recalled those hands—strong and tender, yet capable of bringing her to her knees. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the beast who had once pinned her down, grinning as he squeezed the life from her. But as Cassian turned to meet her gaze, something shifted. His eyes lit up, and she found herself replacing that haunting image with one of tenderness, of caresses and stolen kisses.

But just as quickly, the moment shattered as Cassian pushed away from the bar, standing to leave.

"Going home?" she asked, instinctively snatching his untouched drink before he could change his mind. He turned back to her, extending a hand, an uncharacteristic plea in his expression.

She hesitated, staring at his outstretched fingers. "I don't want to be alone..." he whispered, a vulnerability in his tone that sent shivers down her spine. "Please, take my hand..."

It was a rare moment of desperation from Cassian—who never begged. With a resolute heart, she downed his drink, the warmth flooding her, and placed her hand in his, sealing an unspoken promise between them. Just this once.

"You're in my seat..." Lucien huffed as Amren gracefully slid into the chair just before he reached the table. With a cheeky flick of her wrist, she shot him a gesture that left little room for argument.

"I'm not sitting next to Azriel," he objected, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Then sit on the floor," Amren countered, a smirk playing at her lips. Lucien sighed, summoning every ounce of resolve as he reluctantly made his way to the empty seat beside Azriel.

"Taken!" Cassian burst into the room, practically leaping into the chair Lucien had been eyeing.

"You're late," Azriel accused, his tone sharp as a blade.

"You tied me to a chair!" Cassian shot back, his voice a mixture of indignation and laughter.

"That's my—" Lucien began, but Cassian turned to glare at him, and he quickly decided to let it go. "Forget it…"

The air shifted as a cloaked figure glided into the room, causing Azriel's breath to hitch. Silence enveloped them as she made her way to a corner, collecting a stray chair before dragging it across the floor. With a soft thud, she settled next to Feyre, her presence commanding yet unassuming.

For a fleeting moment, she met Cassian's gaze, and he found himself questioning if she was looking at him or Azriel. Desperately, he tried to busy himself with minor distractions, but the figure pulled back her hood, revealing Hedda's familiar features.

"Cool," Amren snickered, her curiosity piqued. "What do you call this look?" she asked, gesturing to Hedda's cloaked attire.

"Laundry day…" Hedda replied, a sly smile dancing on her lips.

"Waaaaiiit," Amren shot back, eyes widening. "Does that mean you're naked under there?"

Hedda merely shrugged, a playful glint in her eye. "We had a meeting. I'm present. Take the win…"

"Right," Rhys began as he strode into the dimly lit room, his presence commanding attention. "The Dredger... Cassian, what do we know about it?"

Cassian cleared his throat, the weight of their conversation palpable. "The Dredger is precisely what its name suggests. It dredges up… things—memories you'd rather keep buried. Horrors you'd never want to see again. Those who encounter The Dredger are forever altered, often descending into madness."

"Why do we need The Dredger?" Feyre inquired, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Good question," Rhys continued, pacing slightly. "As far as we know, The Dredger remains locked within its cell in the prison. Fun fact: the adjacent cell is now empty."

"Once occupied by The Nightmare," Cassian added, his tone grave. "They're acquainted…"

"You want me to acquaint myself with The Dredger…" Hedda interjected, her voice steady but her eyes betraying unease.

"She's not going," Cassian insisted, his determination palpable. "I'll go instead—"

"Cas, no. The things you've witnessed… you'd sacrifice yourself before you could even leave its cell." Mor rose from her seat, leaning over the table, her intensity sharp.

"I'm expandable…" Hedda whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Your plans won't be hindered by my untimely demise. Your friends will remain whole…"

"You are my friend," Rhys countered, his tone softening. "You're not expandable. You're simply our best option right now."

"I will escort her," Azriel finally spoke, his voice a calm anchor amidst the storm. "I'll fly her to the prison. I'll wait for her there."

"You're not coming in?" A sliver of terror crept up her spine as the realization struck. She hadn't considered she would be entirely alone within those walls.

"He can't…" Cassian agreed, his fists clenched at his sides, tension radiating from him. He had witnessed the toll it took on his brother when Azriel had captured The Dredger. It had taken nearly a century for him to piece himself back together, each fragment of his soul painstakingly restored.

"It took something from you…" Hedda stated, her voice steady. She wasn't asking; she understood the price Azriel had paid to subdue The Dredger. He had sacrificed a part of himself, a piece of his very essence now forever lost. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her, shivering against the chill of that truth. Perhaps that was why she felt so drawn to him. They were kindred spirits—broken, fragmented, incomplete.

Azriel merely nodded, the weight of her words settling between them.

"Fine," she sighed, a spark of resolve igniting within her. "Take me to this Dredger…"

"What now?" Amren sputtered, disbelief etched across her features. "Shouldn't you at least get dressed first?"

"Right… Tomorrow then?" Hedda quipped, a teasing light in her eyes as she slid from her seat. "Laundry day…" she offered as an excuse to Rhys, a wry smile playing on her lips as she made her way toward the door.

"You don't have to go," Mor urged Azriel, her tone softening. "Someone else can take her—someone like Rhys…" Her glare shifted to Cassian, "or you."

"I keep saying that," Cassian chimed in, his confidence unwavering. But Azriel shook his head firmly. "Not him…"

"Look, she'll have to get over it eventually," Mor pressed, frustration coloring her words. "She can't fear him forever for something he didn't even do."

"What didn't I do?" Cassian leaned over the table, eyes narrowing as he took in the tension. Azriel shot a horrified look at Mor. "What didn't I do?" Cassian repeated, glancing between them, concern etched on his face. "Does it have to do with the mountain?"

"Calm down, Cas," Amren interjected, trying to defuse the brewing storm.

But Cassian leaped from his chair, slamming a fist onto the table in front of Azriel. "Tell me…" he growled, his voice low and fierce.

"She fought you," Mor interjected before Cassian could lunge at Azriel. "A thousand different versions of you…"

"Mor, don't…" Azriel implored, but she merely laughed, the sound sharp and unapologetic.

"It's done, Az. The cat's out of the bag… Tell him, or shall I?"

"Az!?" Cassian turned, pleading with his brother, desperation radiating from him.

"She fought a horde of beasts," Azriel finally admitted, his voice heavy. "She held the line like she promised you and defended Velaris… Except they weren't beasts…"

"They were me…"

"Every time it came for her, she thought it was you. She let it close, hoping that this time it would truly be you…"

"Fuck no…" Cassian sank back into his chair, the weight of the revelation crashing over him.

"You stabbed her," Azriel said, his voice steady but filled with a simmering intensity. Mor's eyes widened in shock, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern.

"Az, perhaps that's not the best way—" she began, but Azriel cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"He needs to hear this, Mor. He won't grasp the full weight of what happened otherwise." The air thickened with unspoken truths, the gravity of the moment pressing down on them all.

"Is there more?" Cassian's voice trembled, a wave of nausea washing over him as he braced himself for the revelations that lay ahead.

'After you stabbed her? Oh yeah. You strangled her. You strangled her while her flesh burned and she pleaded with you to help her. You bit her…' Azriel's voice trembled, cracking under the weight of his confession. Cassian's heart raced as he watched his brother's throat constrict, the effort of speaking a struggle. "You bit her so fiercely that your teeth struck bone."

Feyre's face went pale, her breath hitching as she clutched her stomach. "I can't... I need to go," she murmured, and with that, she fled the room, the door slamming behind her like the echo of a heartbreak too heavy to bear.

"You killed her, Cas," Azriel whispered, his voice trembling with sorrow. "You ended her a thousand different ways, and I fear she may never truly come alive again. Every beast I faced bore your face."

"But she's alive now," Cassian insisted, his heart racing with a flicker of hope.

"Alive, yes," Azriel replied, pain etched into his features. "By the grace of a miracle and the finest healers Rhys could summon."

"You should have told me," Cassian said, his voice low and strained, before he turned away, fists clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to release the storm brewing inside him as he stalked off.

"He had to know," Azriel murmured, glancing at the few souls who remained, their eyes heavy with unspoken questions. The weight of his words hung in the air, a fragile bridge between pain and understanding.

"Need a hand?" Azriel asked, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he watched her struggle to gather her scattered laundry from the floor. She let out a groan, sinking back onto the ground for a moment, exasperation etched across her face. "I think I missed a step..."

His gaze followed the trail of clothes up the stairs, spotting a bundle of socks abandoned on the second-to-last step. "I hate laundry day," she laughed, the sound lightening the air around them. Azriel extended his hand, pulling her up with a soft, reassuring grip. "I'll carry your load," he said, and they both chuckled, the playful banter easing the tension of the moment. "Just up the stairs... only up the stairs," he assured her, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

As they climbed, Azriel's expression turned serious. "I had to tell him..."

"I know," she replied, a warm smile lighting her features. "I'm sorry I asked you not to... He's your brother."

"I didn't plan on it. Someone spoke out of turn. Unsalvageable..." He glanced sideways, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Mor," she said, her laughter returning. "She talks too much."

They reached the landing, the hallway stretching out before them. Azriel still held her laundry basket tightly, a silent promise of support. He paused at the first door to his left, its frame slightly ajar.

"'Cas?' Azriel called into the dimly lit room, his voice echoing against the walls. The silence that followed felt unsettling; Cassian never left his door open like this. He shrugged, dismissing the unease, and continued down the hall with Hedda beside him.

Hedda paused, an inexplicable urge pulling her toward Cassian's door. Something whispered in her heart, urging her to push it open wider. "What have you stuffed in here anyway? This thing weighs a ton…" Azriel joked, moving forward to the next door on his left. He set the laundry basket down in front of her door, the soft thud breaking the stillness.

"Thanks, Az," she beamed, finally catching up to him. "You've saved my life once again…" Their laughter mingled in the air, lightening the mood.

"Yeah, I should probably stop doing that…" he mused, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Don't stop," she breathed, a hint of vulnerability slipping through her facade. "I mean... I don't enjoy needing saving," she quickly corrected herself, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Just don't disappear like he did... I enjoy having you around."

"I'll have to leave eventually," he replied, his tone turning solemn. "Court business. But you won't be alone. Cas…" He swallowed hard, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. "It wasn't really him who hurt you…" His voice softened. "He would never…"

"I know, I'll have to get over it eventually. I just…" She shook her head, a soft smile breaking through her thoughts. Leaning in, she wrapped her arms around him, drawing comfort from his presence. "I'm glad you're here now…" she whispered, pulling away reluctantly.

"Hedda…" Azriel reached for her arm, gently pulling her back into his embrace. "I would never just leave—"

Before he could finish, she silenced him with a kiss. It was more a whisper of lips than anything bold—soft and tentative, yet filled with an undeniable warmth. In that fleeting moment, everything around them faded, leaving only the quiet acknowledgment of what had passed between them. It was a kiss, simple yet profound, a promise wrapped in uncertainty.