A/N: A little double publish in honor of me being another year older. 

Feyre stood at the edge of the stream, the icy waters rushing below her, bowstring taut and arrow aimed directly at Lucien. His red hair clung to his pale golden skin in the relentless rain, his metal eye scanning her with the sharpness of a predator. But beneath the warrior's facade, she saw the flicker of hesitation.

"We've been searching for you for over two months," he said, his voice tight with urgency. His gaze darted toward the forest, the stream, and the leaden sky. "Someone tipped us off you were out here, and we caught your scent on the wind. It's luck that we found you."

The words struck her like a blade, as if she were no more than quarry in a hunt. "How did you find me?" she demanded, her voice cold and steady—a voice she hardly recognized as her own.

Lucien hesitated before taking a step toward her. She immediately retreated, her boots slipping slightly on the wet ground. Only three feet separated her from the frigid stream. His eye narrowed as he read her every move. "We need to leave," he urged. "Tamlin's... not himself. I'll take you straight to—"

"No." The word rasped out of her, sharp and unyielding.

Lucien's hand hovered in the air between them, his expression wavering between pain and determination. "Feyre," he said softly. "Let's go home."

"That stopped being my home the day you let him lock me up inside it."

The words landed like a blow, and Lucien flinched. "It was a mistake," he said, barely audible over the rain. "We all made mistakes. He's sorry—more sorry than you know. So am I."

Feyre's laugh was sharp and bitter. "You think that changes anything?"

"You don't understand," he pressed, desperation creeping into his voice. "We need you—Tamlin needs you. The court—"

"Don't," Feyre snapped, venom dripping from the word. "Don't you dare speak to me about needs. You, who stood by while he shattered me, while he caged me, while I begged you for help and you turned away." Her voice trembled with rage. "And you talk about needing me?"

Lucien faltered, his face stricken. "You don't understand the pressure we were under. The court—"

"Don't you dare speak of your court to me," she snarled, her arrow unwavering. "And don't think for one second I've forgotten your other sins."

Lucien's brows furrowed, his confusion palpable. "What are you talking about?"

Feyre let the silence stretch, her words slicing through the rain like a dagger. "Nala," she said, her voice a hiss. "Do you even remember her mother? Do you remember what you left behind?"

Lucien's face went pale, his metal eye whirring as he struggled to comprehend. "What—what are you saying?"

"She's your daughter," Feyre spat. "Nala. My sister. You didn't even know, did you? Of course, you didn't. Too busy playing Tamlin's lapdog to notice the trail of destruction you left behind."

The disbelief in Lucien's expression was stark, his lips parting as if to protest, but no sound emerged. The rain pounded harder, filling the charged silence between them.

"You're lying," he finally whispered, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Feyre's expression was cold and merciless. "Believe what you want. But you don't get to stand here and tell me what I should do. You've already failed me once. Failed her before she even had a chance to know you existed."

The weight of her words left Lucien motionless, as if the ground had fallen out from beneath him. But Feyre had no time for his shock, no patience for his guilt. She would not let him manipulate her, not again.

When Lucien finally moved, it was not toward her but away. A step back. Then another.

"You...you're lying," he repeated weakly, but the crack in his voice betrayed the doubt that had already taken root.

"I'm done explaining myself to you," Feyre said coldly, her wings flaring behind her. "Leave. And don't come looking for me—or for her."

Lucien lingered for a moment, rain dripping from his armor as he stared at her, his confusion and pain etched into his face. Then, with a sharp nod to his sentinels, he vanished into the storm.

As silence fell over the forest, Feyre stood unmoving, the rain soaking her to the bone. Beside her, Rhysand's presence coiled like a shadow, silent and watchful. She didn't need his words to know what he was thinking.

She had taken another step away from the past, and though the path was cold and unforgiving, she had no intention of turning back.