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“Panic- and rage. That was all he knew as he shot down into the heart of the pit, spearing for that ancient darkness that had once shaken him to his very marrow. Nesta was there- and Feyre. It was the former her saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe- She let out a small, animal sound- like some wounded stag- as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and dishevelled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching- She gripped his leathers instead. 'Feyre,' she rasped, pointing behind her with a free hand, shaking him solidly with the other. Strength- such untapped strength in that slim, beautiful body. 'Hybern.' That was all he needed to hear. He drew his sword- then Rhys was arrowing for them, his power like a gods-damned volcanic eruption. Cassian charged ahead into the gloom, following the screaming-” — Sarah J. Maas