He smirked, squaring his shoulder the way a boxer does before they swing. “I remembered where I’ve seen you before… back in Winter, right?” I shook my head, but neither of us believed the lie. “It’s coming back to me now… Your father was that idiot merchant, the one who gave us trouble over that healer bitch.” 

“That was my mother!” I hissed. For a moment, rage overshadowed my terror and I surged forward, grasping him by the collar impulsively. He didn’t so much as flinch as a barreled into him, his mouth still twisted in a smug smirk. Up close, I had to crane my neck to look him in the eyes and my stomach dropped. With the steadiness of a predator, he reached up and caught my wrists in a crushing grip, holding them in front of me like makeshift shackles. I tried to pull away, but he held firm, taking a step forward until I was backed against the cabinets once more. 

“Yes,” he replied, looking me up and down, “I can see the resemblance. I’ll admit her loss was a waste… of a pretty face, at least.” My mother’s face, kind and gentle and full of life flashed before me in my mind's eye, and to think he saw her as nothing more than decoration made me see red. Unable to free myself from his hold, I did the next best thing to express my anger, spitting directly in his face. He froze, the amusement draining from him, and before I could react, I was on the ground, my face throbbing from the blow he just landed. “More fiery than you look, healer,” he commented, crouching over me as I clutched my aching cheek.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I seethed, glaring up at him. I wracked my brain for solutions. What would Cassian do? How would Nesta respond? 

“I want you to keep your little mouth shut before you ruin everything,” he replied, glowering at me. “And I know one good way of shutting bitches like you up.” Time seemed to slow as he reached down for me, his bare hands more threatening than any talons or claws I had ever encountered. Desperately, I searched my surroundings one last time for something, anything, I could use to turn the tide in my favor. My kitchen was largely barren, but just as I was about to give up my search, a flash of color caught my attention. Steel blue, sage green, and ochre dishes. It was as though the potter had based them on Cassian and Nesta’s eyes. A single dinner plate was sitting on the countertop, close enough for me to grasp if I was quick. 

If there was one thing healing had taught me, it was that, in a crisis, you don’t have time to second guess yourself. You have to make split-second decisions and commit to them because lingering in indecision will get your patient killed. So, I didn’t think twice, lunging upward to snatch the plate. I brought it down on the side of his head as hard as I could, the sturdy ceramic shattering on impact. I didn’t wait to see if the blow was effective, scrambling towards the front door. He recovered too quickly, though, cutting me off mid-stride, but he was thrown off enough that I was able to pivot towards my second, less ideal exit strategy. 

I leapt over the bed and grasped the window frame, intending to throw it open and dive onto the street below. ‘Don’t hesitate’, a voice chanted in my mind, ‘just act.’ Just as my fingers closed around the window frame, however, a wall of muscle slammed into me from behind. The momentum of the blow sent my head forward and I squeezed my eyes shut as the glass shattered against my skull. At the same moment, all of the air was forced from my lungs and I toppled, falling onto the glass-covered floor as spots danced in my vision. I could hear nothing but the ringing in my ears as a pair of boots approached my prone form, and, had I not been gasping for breath, I might have cried out in frustration. 

The room spun as I was hauled to my feet, supported only by a large hand wrapped tightly around my neck. The male had blood dripping down his temple from my move with the plate, and I was happy I had at least done some damage before he killed me. There was a wild look in his eyes as he pulled one hand back, drawing a dagger from his belt. “The best part is,” he growled, pulling his arm back and leveling the dagger at my sternum, “there’s no one left alive to miss you.”

I thought of Nesta and Cassian, of the future with them I had been dreaming of before I knew their names, and I knew he was wrong. I steeled myself and closed my palm around the large shard of glass I had pinched between my fingertips, ignoring the pain as it cut into my palm. I zeroed in on his neck, eyeing the soft spots just beneath the jaw, on either side of the trachea. If my aim was true, I would avoid the protective thyroid cartilage and slide the blade home, severing the major vessels supplying his brain with blood. I had seen such injuries before, watched how quickly life drained from the victims, and I’d never imagined I would be the one inflicting it. 

I screamed as I did it, swinging my arm with all the force I could muster as I lodged the shard into his neck. It sunk through flesh just as a blade would, sending blood spattering outwards, coating my face and chest. Just as I anticipated, his hold on his blade faltered as he reached up to claw at the wound. His eyes went wide in shock as he stumbled backward, falling to the floor where blood was already beginning to pool. I slid to the ground, transfixed by the grisly scene before me. Instinctively, I counted respirations and took stock of his rapidly waning consciousness, the healer in me screaming to put pressure on the wound, to begin life-sustaining measures.

It was what my mother would have done. She would have put aside her personal vendetta and sprung into action, trying to save the dying man at her feet regardless of how he had wronged her. She wouldn’t have thought twice about trying to stop the bleeding. But she had not seen her father murdered before her eyes. She had not watched her mother be dragged away in chains. She had not tended to soldiers and prisoners of war, their bodies so mangled that death was a mercy. She had not known rage and anger and despair as I had and she had not been changed by the cruelty of the world. 

My mother would have helped that male, but I was not my mother. So, instead, I remained curled up on the floor, watching his complexion go from sunkissed to ashen to grey. The only sounds he made were quiet, stilted gasps: agonal breathing, the last impulses from a dying brainstem trying to keep itself alive. First, the choked wheezes stopped, then the twitching ceased, and he was utterly still. All in all, it took less than a minute for him to die, and I hadn’t moved an inch to try and save him. 

Perhaps that made me a monster. Perhaps I didn’t care. 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Nesta paced the balcony as she waited for Azriel’s return, her anxiety growing as darkness swept over the city below. She wanted, needed, to hear that her mate was safe and well, and she was beginning to regret her decision to send Azriel in her stead. At the time, with Nesta still struggling to come up with something to say to her mate, sending the Spymaster seemed like the most reasonable course of action. Now, she wondered if it was time she got over her fears and go directly to Y/N herself, consequences be damned. Just as Nesta was considering braving the stairs on her own, she heard the familiar flap of large wings as a figure appeared out of the night sky. It was Cassian, not Azriel, who landed before her on the balcony, striding forward to pull her into a hug. 

“How was the meeting?” she asked, looking up to study his face.

“Boring,” he replied with a shrug, “why are you hanging around out here?”

“Waiting for Azriel,” Nesta explained. Cassian gave her a quizzical look and her cheeks darkened slightly. “I may have sent him to check on Y/N… to make sure she gets home safely.” Cassian smiled, affection echoing down the bond between them, but just as he opened his mouth to retort, another set of wings could be heard approaching.

“We have a problem,” Azriel stated, landing on the balcony with a thud. Nesta’s blood turned to ice in her veins and she could hear Cassian’s heart rate quicken. “Y/N’s fine, she’s at her apartment. But she ran into some males who were less than gentlemanly.” 

Cassian’s siphons flared with life, illuminating the foyer in a blinding red glow. His fists were clenched, shaking with untold power and rage. “As I said, she’s physically unharmed, but she believes one of them is the male who killed her father. She was… is… distraught.”

“These males,” Nesta said lowly, her jaw clenched, “where are they?”

“Being rounded up as we speak. I’ll take them to the Hewn City and look into the one she recognized, but first, you should go to her,” Azriel replied. The pair was momentarily torn between going to their mate and ripping apart those that had threatened her, but in one shared look, the decision was made. 

Cassian flew low over Velaris, flapping his wings to propel the two toward Y/N’s apartment. They landed on the street and all but ran up the steps with Cassian in the lead. When they reached the top, both were hit by the pungent smell of blood hanging thick in the air. Nesta’s heart hammered in her ears as Cassian drew his dagger, throwing open the front door and barreling into the dwelling without hesitation. 

They were hit with a wave of blood and terror, the stench nearly overpowering the small space. On the floor, in the center of the room, was the body of a male High Fae laying face up in a pool of blood, a gash torn into the side of his neck. Blood and glass covered the floor and the window next to the bed was shattered. In the low light, Nesta almost missed the small, shaking figure huddled in the corner, beneath the destroyed window. She surged forward, letting out a strangled cry of surprise and anguish, and fell to her knees before her mate. Cassian was close behind, closing the gap in an instant. “Y/N?” Nesta murmured, reaching out to touch her arm. “Y/N, are you hurt?” 

Her mate looked up, revealing a blood-soaked and bruised face, and Nesta felt panic begin to bubble within her. Cassian cursed and pushed past her, using his hands to wipe the blood from the small healer’s face and neck, assessing her wounds. Her face had several superficial cuts, and a nasty gash marred her temple. He moved down her body, pausing when he found another deep laceration on her palm. “She needs a healer,” Nesta sputtered, dashing to the bathroom to retrieve a towel. 

“Rhys is on his way,” Cassian explained, having reached out to the High Lord the moment he scented blood. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

“I killed him,” she whispered in reply, her eyes locked on the lifeless body behind them. “He was going to kill me. He killed my father.” Cassian shot a wing out, blocking her view of the bloody scene, and began wrapping her hand with the towel Nesta fetched. Nesta pressed another cloth to the wound on her temple, stemming the bleeding.

“You did good, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding her hand in a firm grip. “You’re safe now.” 

“I didn’t want to,” she whispered, her eyes distant and unfocused. It didn’t take a healer to know she was in shock. “I didn’t stop the bleeding.”

Nesta wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, “shhh, it’s okay. You did what you had to. It’s over now.” She smoothed a hand over Y/N’s hair, allowing her to cry into her chest while Cassian sheltered them both, his wings blocking out the horror that lay just a few meters away. Later, they would both be consumed by unyielding rage at what had been done to their mate, but as she cried in their arms, they couldn’t help but simply feel broken as well. 

Rhysand took mere minutes to arrive with Azriel close behind. The latter of the two assessed the scene and sent his shadows forward, concealing the body in waves of impenetrable darkness. Cassian’s siphons flared when Rhys approached, and he fought to suppress his instincts. 

“I’ll winnow you to the House,” said the High Lord, “Madja is there.” Cassian nodded stiffly, reaching out to gather Y/N into his arms. Nesta hovered close by, her eyes never leaving her injured mate as Rhysand transported them across the city in a snap. Cassian kept Y/N held tightly to his chest as they landed in the foyer, his face a mask of fury. Madja greeted them, along with Mor and Feyre, and directed him to place Y/N on the sofa. 

“Wait,” Y/N objected, sounding more coherent than before, “I’ll get blood on the upholstery.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhys replied, “magic does wonders for getting out blood stains.” Cassian set her down before she could argue more, his arm never leaving her shoulder as he took a seat to her right. Nesta joined them on the other side, fetching a throw to wrap around her shivering form. Madja crouched before her, gently unwrapping the crude bandages as she pulsed her healing magic outwards, taking stock of the younger healer’s injuries. She addressed the gash to her temple first, stitching it shut then cleaning the remaining scratches. Once her face was mostly clean, Madja moved on to addressing her hand.

“This is deep… full thickness,” she commented, gently dabbing away coagulated blood to reveal an angry looking gash. Y/N hissed in pain, instinctively pulling away, and Cassian surged forward, catching Madja’s wrist before she could touch his mate again. She gave the General a withering look and he withdrew, looking sheepish. 

“I’m okay,” Y/N said, her voice hoarse and quiet. He resisted the urge to argue, to scream that none of this was anywhere close to okay. 

“Your face is bruised,” Madja commented, resuming her work cleaning the wound. “Any vision changes? Loss of consciousness?” 

“No, maybe a mild concussion if that. It just smarts, is all,” Y/N replied, her gaze fixed on her sluggishly bleeding hand. 

“Anything else?” Madja asked, retrieving her suturing kit. 

“Bruise ribs, I think,” Y/N replied, sounding distant. Nesta cursed under her breath, her fists clenching and unclenching in her lap. “Maybe broken, I’m not sure.” 

She sounded so casual, clinical even, in the way she reported her injuries. It was a coping strategy Cassian recognized from the battlefield, the suppression of emotion in the wake of violence. The calm facade would come crashing down later, but for now, Y/N appeared almost nonchalant, resting her head on his shoulder, her uninjured hand intertwined with Nesta’s. Rhysand approached, sitting across from them with a grim expression on his face. He seemed to hesitate, as though choosing his words carefully. “That male,” he began, catching Y/N’s attention, “I recognized him from Under the Mountain. I don’t know how… one of them got into Velaris, but we’re going to find out. If there’s any more of her people here, they’ll be found.”

Feyre approached him, resting a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Cassian recognized the darkness swirling in his brother’s eyes, the doubt and shame and deep anger that had lived in him since he returned from Amarantha’s clutches. To have found one of her vermin living in his city, hurting someone who was practically family, no less, was not something he took lightly. He gave his brother a slight nod as if to say ‘I understand’, and Rhysand returned the gesture. A heavy silence hung in the air, and after several heartbeats, Cassian realized Y/N was yet to answer. “Y/N?” he asked, turning to look at her. She was looking down, not at the wound on her hand, but at the blood drying on the front of her dress, blood that was not her own.

“I killed him,” she whispered, beginning to shake once more. “I’m a healer. I’m not supposed to kill people.” 

Before anyone could open their mouth to reassure her, Madja spoke. “Now listen to me, young lady,” the old healer began, placing a firm hand on her knee. She waited patiently for Y/N to make eye contact before continuing. “Your job, as a healer, is to preserve life. You know as well as I do that, sometimes, that involves making hard decisions. You made a call, the right call, to preserve the life of someone good over a murderer. I will not have you faulting yourself for that. Do you understand?” 

Y/N nodded mutely, a few stray tears falling down her cheek. Her mates could tell the matter was not entirely settled, but Madja’s words had brought some degree of comfort. They sat in silence while the healer finished her work, suturing and bandaging her injured hand before moving on to examining Y/N’s ribs. They were indeed bruised, with one cracked but not displaced. She elected not to wrap the injury but left strict instructions to be careful with the area. When she was finished, Cassian lifted Y/N into his arms again, careful not to place pressure on her ribs. “I can walk,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder nonetheless. 

“No need,” Cassian replied, ascending the steps towards his and Nesta’s shared bedroom. He paused outside the door, momentarily conflicted. The three of them had made progress in their relationship, and although the thought of being separated from her tormented them both, it occurred to him that sharing a room with them might be an overstep. “This is our room,” he said, not specifying who our encompassed, “but we can bring you to a guest room if you’d prefer.”

“I’d like— I’d prefer not to be alone, right now… if that’s alright,” Y/N replied. 

“That’s more than alright,” Nesta said, opening the door for her mates. Nuala had gone ahead of them, already running a hot bath, and Cassian set her down gently on a bench in the bathing room. 

“I can help you if you need it. Or we can get someone else…” Nesta offered, slightly apprehensive. Y/N blushed, biting her lip as she contemplated her options. 

“I should be able to manage.”

“Call out, if you need us. There’s a nightgown on the vanity that should be your size, if a bit long,” Nesta said, wringing her hands.

“Thank you,” their mate replied, her voice barely a whisper. “To both of you.” 

“No need to thank us,” Cassian said, offering a forced smile from his place in the doorway. “Shout if you need anything.” 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

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