The meeting room at Ruhn Danaan's house was beginning to feel too small for the number of powerful people crammed inside it. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, Feyre beside him, while Cassian and Nesta occupied the seats opposite Bryce Quinlan and Hunt Athalar. Ruhn lounged in his chair with a cigarette tucked behind one ear, looking thoroughly unimpressed by the stack of documents in front of him. Mor and Amren had claimed the remaining seats.

Azriel stood near the window, arms crossed over his chest, his shadows curling restlessly around his shoulders. Something had been wrong ever since they'd stepped through the portal. A strange, persistent pull had settled somewhere beneath his ribs the moment his boots touched Midgard soil. It wasn't pain, nor was it the familiar awareness of danger that his shadows sometimes sensed before he did. It felt almost like an invisible thread stretching into the distance, tugging at him whenever he tried to ignore it. He'd said nothing about it.

Bryce nodded, leaning forward.

Hunt shot him a dry look.

Ruhn snorted. The conversation continued, shifting towards potential allies, military resources, and the possibility of opening portals between the worlds safely. Azriel listened, contributing when necessary, but his attention kept drifting towards that inexplicable sensation. It pulled again. His jaw tightened. What in the seven hells was it?

Before he could investigate the feeling any further, the meeting room door swung open. A male with dark hair poked his head inside. He looked between the occupants, seemingly unfazed by the High Lord of the Night Court and his entourage.

Silence. Ruhn closed his eyes.

Bryce immediately burst out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand. Hunt leaned back in his chair, looking entirely unsurprised. Cassian straightened.

Ruhn pushed his chair back with a groan.

Nesta's mouth twitched. Rhysand raised an eyebrow.

Azriel watched him leave, his shadows stirring against his skin. The strange pull beneath his ribs tightened once more.