-Sebastian Lightwood:
Nervous doesn't even begin to cover it.
The air in the room feels heavier than it did ten minutes ago, like the walls themselves know we're about to walk into something unavoidable.
Aurelian is the most visibly shaken.
He stands near the mirror, already dressed, smoothing down the long, heavy robe draped over his frame. The fabric is deep crimson, thick and regal, embroidered with intricate gold threading along the sleeves and collar. The patterns catch the morning light filtering through the curtains, glinting faintly as he moves. The robe falls all the way to his ankles, layered over a fitted tunic beneath it, structured and precise — something that looks pulled from another century entirely.
He looks like royalty.
Untouchable.
And yet his hands are trembling slightly as they adjust the folds.
