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    Summary

    "My tastes run… in a different vein. Than my brother's. And presumably yours."

    Nesta scowled, heart still hammering away. Cassian hadn't looked up from his plate. He was so still, she wasn't sure if he was even breathing.

    "Presumably nothing. You don't know my tastes, and neither does Cassian."

    Azriel's lips twitched upward in amusement. The shadows twining around him swirled and eddied as if a great wind had just blown through them from Nesta's direction.

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