Chapter 38
The summons came just after sunset. Riven had barely managed to shove food into his mouth before a House runner found him, breathless and wide-eyed.“Maris wants you in the ready room, now.”
He didn’t expect the spike of adrenaline. He covered it with a sneer, tossed the last bit of toast onto the plate, and stood. By the time he reached the ready room, the edge of anticipation had dulled into wariness.
The moment he stepped inside, the room confirmed all of his worst suspicions.
It was full of strangers.
Not Thane. Not Cassian or Luca. No familiar faces. Just the sleek, grim efficiency of soldiers he didn’t know—tight black gear, quiet eyes. In the corner, Caerel stood in a tailored coat, scrolling through a thin datapad and murmuring to Maris, who barely looked up at Riven’s entrance.
Riven stopped cold, eyes sweeping the space again. “Where’s Thane?”
Caerel looked up at him. “He won’t be on this mission.”
Riven’s stomach knotted. “Why?”
Caerel clicked off the datapad and stepped forward. “Because the Matriarch has decided I’ll lead it. Orders are orders, and the House follows them. Even Thane.” A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Disappointed?”
The honest answer was yes. The idea of returning to the Seam without Thane behind him—to catch him by the collar if things went sideways, to bark a word and clear a path—felt like walking into the heart of a storm without a coat.
But that made Riven furious, too. He’d survived years in worse places, carved a life out of gutter instincts and sharp reflexes.
What the hell had Thane done to him, that the thought of going in solo felt like falling?
He bit down the emotion. “I just thought since I was the one who saw her at the edge of the property, Thane would want to follow through.”
Caerel’s expression flickered, just briefly. “He’s not pleased. But he knows better than to defy the Matriarch in the open.”
“Lucky him,” Riven muttered.
They went over the plan in efficient detail—there wasn’t much to tell.
Lareth’s crew had gotten noisy. Too many deals, too fast. They were either expanding or unraveling.
Either way, Caerel said, “We use it. If they’re desperate, they’ll need fresh hands.
You were seen with them before. That gives us an edge. ”
Riven nodded slowly. The hollow anxiety in his chest settled into something harder.
They geared up quickly, and by the time they were moving, dusk had settled over the windshield of the unmarked car. As they drove through the narrow switchback roads of the upper city, Riven stared out the window, jaw tight.
“Still tender?” Caerel asked from the front passenger seat, not looking back.
Riven blinked. “What?”
“From the last time you got fucked.”
The comment was flippant, but not cruel. Riven didn’t answer. Caerel didn’t push.
Instead, he said, “You need to get your head on straight before we arrive. This isn’t some dramatic episode between lovers. It’s a mission. If you get made before we find the source, all this effort will have been for nothing.”
Riven didn’t argue. He stared out the window again.
His thoughts turned back to the estate—the window where he’d seen Thane watching him from the shadows.
He hated the way his gut had clenched at the sight, hated more that he’d wanted Thane to stop him.
To follow. To say something other than what he had.
You’re just a pet who doesn’t listen.
Riven’s hands curled into fists in his lap.
They crossed into the Seam just as full dark settled over Atlantis, though the district was always dim, always shadowed by towers and half-collapsed overhangs. As they neared The Ember Gate, Caerel turned in his seat and faced Riven.
“If Lareth’s there, and he asks too many questions —”
“I know how to handle this,” Riven interrupted. “Done this before, you know.”
Caerel produced a small syringe. Riven eyed it warily, having never been a fan of needles. “What’s this?”
“It’s something we whipped up. It can counter the effects of Soulglass if administered. Works fairly quickly, too. The problem, of course, is staying alive long enough to use it.”
Riven took the syringe and its little concealable case, eyes flickering with doubt. “How will I get this past their scans?”
Carrel waved a hand. “Case blocks the wards, so it’s safe.”
“I’m ready,” Riven said after bending and straightening his arm a few times.
Caerel’s mouth quirked. “It’s not just about impressing the Matriarch. Pull this off, and you’ll be useful, not just a mouthy favor Thane dragged in off the street.”
Riven tilted his head. “Is that what people think?”
“It’s what people say,” Caerel replied. “Prove them wrong.”
The car slid to a stop half a block from the club.
The Ember Gate loomed in the distance, neon curves and cracked-glass windows.
Even in the daylight, the place pulsed. Music thudded faintly beneath the surface of the street like a second heartbeat.
The building was tall and narrow, painted black with crimson lighting streaking up the side like capillaries.
The entrance was hidden beneath a flickering sign—EMBER—where a lean bouncer lounged beside a curtained doorway.
Riven took several slow breaths. Then he stepped out of the car and into the Seam.
The air down here always carried the tang of copper and rot, but now it was cut with wet pavement, static, the ozone-charged thrum of magic used too carelessly.
People moved like shadows through the alleys, slipping between puddles and headlights, eyes down, thoughts tucked away.
Riven knew how to walk here—how not to be seen unless he wanted to be. It came back to him easy.
He kept his hands in his pockets as he approached the familiar streets near The Ember Gate. His heart beat too fast, but he didn’t let that show. He couldn’t afford it.
It had been a week since he’d last stood here. A week of simmering tension, pain that never quite turned to scar. A week since Thane had touched him like he meant it and then walked away like he didn’t.
He hadn’t come here for Thane. Not technically.
He was here for the mission—information, infiltration, exposure.
That was the story he told Caerel, and it was true.
Mostly. But there was another truth buried under it, quieter and meaner.
He wanted answers, yes. But more than that, he wanted to fix something.
For Thane. Because Thane had been unraveling lately, and maybe if Riven could peel back the mask the Hollow Hand wore, it would give Thane a reason to trust Riven again.
Not that he would say that out loud. Gods, no.
The street curved up, and he slowed, boot heels tapping softly on the rain-slicked concrete.
Up ahead, The Ember Gate pulsed against the dark—a squat building that looked half-abandoned from the outside, paint peeling around the edges, old bricks slick with moisture and tagged with sigils that pulsed faintly in the corner of the eye.
But the door glowed like a mouth about to open.
It wasn’t marked by a name. Only a narrow red slit of light and the press of sound behind it—the throbbing pulse of bass that made his teeth vibrate.
Two guards loitered beside the entrance: one smoking, the other whispering into a communicator at his collar.
Both wore black, the kind of tailored armor that said they were paid well and liked to hurt people.
They barely glanced at Riven. One gave him a slow once-over, then looked away like he wasn’t even worth a challenge. That annoyed him more than it should’ve.
Riven paused a few steps from the door, letting his body language shift. Slouched shoulders, relaxed knees, the subtle twitch of his jaw. A kid from the slums looking to score or dance or disappear. Not a Virellien asset. Not Thane’s. Not anything but what they needed him to be.
The club would swallow him whole if he let it.
He lingered outside, pretending to check his phone, but really just scanning the perimeter.
He counted exit points, watched who walked in and who didn’t.
Most people were locals—edgy, underdressed, looking for a fix or someone to fuck or both.
But a few had that other look, the Seam-trained sharpness, aware of every shadow.
He’d seen that look in the woman from before—the one who’d told him he wasn’t ready.
Lucky him, she hadn’t seen how hard he was trying to prove her wrong.
He flexed his fingers once, rolling out the tension, and glanced up.
The drizzle had turned to mist. In the distance, beyond the rooftops of the Seam, the hills rose up toward the estate.
Somewhere behind one of those high windows, Thane might still be watching.
Riven had told himself he didn’t care anymore, but the thought twisted something in his chest all the same.
Thane had said no. Had spat the word at him like it was final, like it meant Riven had no right to try. And yet Riven had still come here.
Stupid. Stupid and reckless and desperate.
Because part of him still wanted to be seen. Not by the people at The Ember Gate. Not by Lareth. Not by Caerel or even the Matriarch.
By Thane.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
“This is about the mission,” he muttered to himself. “Not him.”
The lie held together just long enough for him to move.
He stepped toward the door. The bouncer didn’t stop him. Just shifted his stance slightly, a silent gesture of warning: don’t start shit you can’t finish.
Riven gave him a lazy smirk.
The man didn’t reply. The door slid open on a breath of heat and music and something darker—something drug-laced and dangerous and slick.
The Ember Gate opened wide to take him in.
Riven stepped inside without looking back.