Chapter 35
Morning came, but Riven didn’t feel any closer to peace.
He hadn’t slept, not really—he’d just laid there staring at the ceiling, replaying the confrontation with Thane again and again.
The cold finality of the man’s rejection still echoed in his head.
Not just the words, but the tone—commanding, brutal, dismissive. Like the case was closed.
But it wasn’t.
The more Riven turned it over in his mind, the more certain he became that his plan was the right course of action.
This wasn’t about bruised egos or defiance.
It was about survival—figuring out what was festering beneath the surface of House Virellien before it broke through and swallowed them all.
Thane might have the legacy, the title, and the power, but he wasn’t infallible.
He was too close, too personally tied to the Hollow Hand and everything they’d taken from him.
That closeness was clouding his judgment.
So Riven did something reckless. Stupid, even.
He went looking for Caerel.
It took some time to find the spymaster.
Virellien’s estate was enormous and always in motion—staff flitting through halls, armed guards posted at every junction, and a constant low hum of purpose.
But eventually Riven found Caerel in a small glass-walled solarium overlooking the inner courtyard, seated at a sleek black table and reviewing something on a holographic screen.
The older elf looked up as Riven entered. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping off whatever misadventure you and Lord Virellien had last night?”
“I need a few minutes,” Riven said. “It’s important.”
Caerel gestured to the seat across from him. “Go on.”
Riven laid it out carefully—what he’d seen on the estate wall, the figures slipping in and out of the shadows, how he’d followed one and recognized the woman from the Seam.
The one connected to Soulglass. The implication was clear—someone had brought her onto the property.
Someone inside House Virellien, a traitor or a spy.
Caerel’s expression darkened, his mouth drawn tight.
“I think I should go back into the Seam,” Riven said. “Try to find her, reconnect. Figure out what she’s doing here, who she’s working with. It’s the best shot we have at cracking this open.”
Caerel sat back in his chair. “Have you spoken to Thane about this?”
“I have,” Riven admitted. “He said no. He didn’t even listen, not really. Just shut it down.”
Caerel’s lips thinned into something colder than a frown. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“I think it’s personal,” Riven said. “He’s too close to this. The Hollow Hand…it’s tied up in his past. I think rejecting the plan is easier than facing the possibility that someone inside this House is working with the people who killed his father.”
Silence settled between them for a long, thoughtful beat.
Caerel looked out the glass wall, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “If what you’re saying is true, it means I’ve failed,” he said quietly. “I’ve gotten too comfortable. Trusted too many faces. That can’t happen again.”
“You haven’t failed,” Riven said. “But we might if we ignore this.”
Caerel looked back at him, sharp blue eyes cutting into his. Whatever thoughts were running through the man’s head didn’t show on his face, but a calculation was happening behind those eyes, and then a shift.
“You’re not wrong about Thane,” Caerel finally said. “He’s not thinking clearly when it comes to the Hollow Hand. The past blinds him. If someone inside is opening doors to the enemy, we can’t afford to wait.”
Riven exhaled, barely allowing himself to hope.
“I’ll authorize the mission myself,” Caerel said. “If we can pull the prep together, you go in tonight.”
For a moment, Riven just stared. “Seriously?”
“I don’t play games when it comes to protecting this House,” Caerel said. “Even when that means going against Thane’s wishes. If your instincts are right, this may be the only real lead we get.”
Relief bloomed fast in Riven’s chest. “Thank you.”
Caerel waved it off. “Don’t thank me yet. If this goes wrong, it’ll be my ass on the line—and yours, too. Go wait in your quarters. I’ll send someone when it’s time.”
Riven nodded and stood, a nervous energy prickling beneath his skin.
As he left the solarium and made his way back toward his room, the estate’s halls seemed more claustrophobic than ever.
He was doing this for the right reasons.
He knew that. But he couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of dread—about the mission, about defying Thane, about what he might discover when he returned to the Seam.
Riven returned to his room with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion coiling in his muscles.
The moment the door shut behind him, the quiet settled over him like a thick blanket, too heavy to feel comforting.
The morning light filtering through the windows was warm and golden, softening the estate’s sharper edges, but it did nothing to settle the churn in his stomach.
He paced for a few minutes, trying to decide if he should pack, if he should prepare in some other way.
This kind of waiting would drive him mad.
He needed something to occupy his mind, something mindless and detached.
After a few moments of indecision, he flicked on the television mounted on the wall and surfed aimlessly until he landed on a trashy dating show.
It was everything he needed—stupid, shallow, brightly lit and aggressively heterosexual.
Two contestants were screaming at each other over who had lied about kissing someone else’s partner, and a man in a sparkly blazer was pretending like any of it mattered.
Riven slumped onto the couch and let the noise wash over him.
He didn’t absorb much of it. His thoughts still drifted—to the Seam, to the woman in the shadows, to the expression on Caerel’s face when he agreed.
More than anything, they drifted back to Thane, and the cold fury in his voice when he shut him down.
He made it maybe half an hour into the episode—just long enough for someone to get dumped on national television—when the knock came.
No. Not a knock.
A violent, thunderous pounding that shook the frame of the door, like someone intended to tear it from the hinges. It wasn’t frantic. It was purposeful and angry.
Riven didn’t even need to get up to know who it was. The cold bubble of dread that formed in his stomach gave it away before his brain caught up. He rose slowly, blood thudding in his ears, the forgotten remote sliding off his lap and hitting the floor with a soft thump.
He crossed the room and placed a hand on the door handle. Just a breath. Just a pause. As if he could put this off a few more seconds.
Then he opened the door.
Thane stood on the other side, tall and immovable, his jaw locked tight, his silver eyes blazing with uncontained fury.
His presence filled the hallway like smoke from a fire—choking, inescapable.
Every line of his face was sharp with rage.
Every inch of him thrummed with dangerous energy.
The Beast, people called him. Knife of House Virellien.
Riven’s mouth went dry as they stared at each other, breath caught in his throat.
He’d been found out.
And there would be a price.