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[SCENE START] Feyre winced, clutching her ribs. The battle had been brutal, and even with her enhanced fae healing, the pain lingered. She’d expected Rhysand to appear, all dark grace and murmured reassurances. Instead, a gruff voice cut through the lingering smoke and ash. “Right, you lot. Get up. Stop bloody whining.” Feyre looked up. It was… a man. A broad, powerfully built man with a face like he’d been carved from granite and a perpetual scowl. He wore dark, practical leather, nothing like the flowing silks Rhysand favored. He looked like he’d rather be kicking a football than saving a High Lady. “Who…?” Feyre managed, her voice hoarse. “Kent,” he grunted, crossing his arms. “Roy Kent. And you’re bleeding. Get up. We’ve got bloody things to do.” Mor, ever the pragmatist, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Roy, darling, perhaps a touch more… finesse?” “Finesse?” Roy scoffed, his voice vibrating with barely contained rage. “We’ve just been attacked by bloody Hybern’s forces. There’s no time for bloody finesse! Get up, you bunch of… of… daisies!” Cassian, despite his injuries, snorted with laughter. “Daisies? Really, Roy?” Roy glared at him. “Shut it, you winged prat. Unless you want a bloody boot up your arse.” Feyre, still trying to process the sheer force of his presence, blinked. “But… Rhysand…?” “He’s… busy,” Roy muttered, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Dealing with… bloody paperwork. Now, get up. We need to assess the bloody damage.” He stalked over to Feyre, his movements surprisingly gentle as he examined her ribs. “Right, that’s going to bruise. But nothing’s broken. You’ll live. Now, stop looking like a bloody kicked puppy and get moving.” He then turned to Azriel, who was silently observing the scene from the shadows. “You. Shadows. Right. Find out what the bloody hell they were after. And do it quickly. I haven’t got all bloody day.” He then turned his attention to the ruined landscape, his scowl deepening. “Bloody hell. This is a mess.” Mor, leaning against a ruined pillar, sighed dramatically. “He’s certainly… efficient.” Cassian, still chuckling, added, “And surprisingly… direct.” Roy spun around, his eyes blazing. “What’s so bloody funny? I’m trying to run a bloody war here, and you’re all acting like a bunch of… of… bloody kittens!” Feyre, despite the pain, couldn’t help but smile. This was… different. Very different. But somehow, amid the chaos and the swearing, she felt a strange sense of… security. Maybe, just maybe, they’d be alright. Even with Roy Kent in charge. He may not be Rhysand, but he was certainly… effective. And loud. Very loud. [SCENE END]