Chapter 10
Riven sat in the high-backed chair like it might bite him if he moved wrong.
His hair was still damp from the shower, his skin flushed too warm, too tight.
If he shifted even slightly, he could still feel the dull ache of his orgasm echoing low in his spine.
Gods help him, he could still smell the aftershocks of it on his skin.
And across from him, Thane sat like nothing had happened.
Perfect posture. Matte black coat. Hands folded loosely in front of him.
Not a hair out of place. No trace of the man who’d stood behind a pane of mirrored glass and watched Riven fall apart—who’d murmured filth like a command, who’d stayed just long enough to make sure Riven finished, then left before the blush had even faded from his chest.
Riven adjusted his position, trying to get comfortable, trying not to imagine what Thane’s hand would feel like instead of his own. A mistake. His cock twitched in his pants, and he clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt.
Around the table, the debrief was already underway.
Caerel, one of House Virellien’s senior intel officers, leaned forward and flicked the screen behind him to life. Footage from the night before played in clipped silence—Riven entering the club, his target leaning in close, a flash of Soulglass gleaming like a captured star in his hand.
“Preliminary results confirm the sample is genuine,” Caerel said. “Uncut, high-purity, and not a variant in known circulation.”
Riven forced his eyes to the screen, away from Thane.
“That rules out the Glint Syndicate,” Caerel went on, “which means this didn’t come from their labs. Either someone cracked their formula and built on it—”
“Or we’re dealing with a new supplier entirely,” Thane finished evenly. “Which raises the question, where are they getting the raw material?”
Riven cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “If they’re refining Soulglass for new distribution, why test it in such small quantities? That club was a low-end venue, too public for serious product movement.”
Caerel exchanged a glance with the younger data tech beside him. “That’s the point. If something did go wrong with the dose, it would be easy to disappear a dead addict in a place like that.”
A thin pulse of unease moved down Riven’s spine. Lareth and his people knew their product was dangerous—knew it would kill people—and they didn’t care. They viewed the lives of those in the Seam as just as disposable as the Great Houses did.
“Someone’s treating this like a prototype,” he muttered. “Testing it before deployment.”
Thane’s eyes landed on him for the first time since they’d entered the room.
Riven’s breath caught.
The look wasn’t heated. It wasn’t cruel. It was clinical, assessing. Like Thane was measuring him again, this time from the inside out.
“We believe a supplier by the name of Keiran Zay is behind the test sample,” the tech added, tapping keys until a grainy photo appeared on the screen—a wiry elf with pale eyes and a jagged tattoo snaking up his neck.
Riven frowned. “I know that face. He used to run with the Drowned Court, right?”
“Until they cut him loose,” Caerel confirmed. “He’s freelanced ever since. Most recently, according to whispers, with the Hollow Hand.”
That drew a pause.
“I thought the Hollow Hand were dead,” Riven said.
“So did we,” Thane answered quietly.
The room chilled around the edges. Riven felt the shift—Caerel’s slight stiffening, the silence from the tech, even the air seeming to thin out.
“It’s likely just rumor,” Caerel said after a beat, clearing his throat. “These sorts of rumors crop up every few years. Nevertheless, he’s supplying for someone.”
“I’ll pick up the trail,” Riven offered. “If Zay is still moving product, he’ll leave a scent.”
“You’ll do more than trail,” Thane said tersely. “We need a live source. You’ll bring him in.”
Riven nodded, grateful for something to do—something to pour this heat and ache and tension into—and grateful for the prospect of getting back outside the walls of the Virellien estate.
The debrief wrapped a moment later. Caerel rose first to “coordinate channels,” and the tech followed. Riven stood too, stiffly, limbs still not quite right. He shouldn’t still be hard. He shouldn’t still be thinking about it.
But when he glanced over, Thane was watching him again.
“Riven.”
His name in that voice dragged heat straight to his gut. He turned, every part of him bracing for more.
Thane didn’t move from his seat. His expression hadn’t changed. “Control yourself better next time.” The words were quiet. Not cruel, just succinct.
Riven’s pulse thundered. “You watched,” he said before he could stop himself.
“You wanted me to.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It crackled.
Thane rose fluidly, rounding the table until he stood in front of Riven again. Close. Not as close as before, but close enough.
“You don’t get to pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” Thane said. “And I won’t pretend I’m done with you.”
Riven’s mouth went dry. His fists clenched at his sides.
Thane didn’t wait for a reply. He moved past without touching—without needing to—and left a trail of heat in his wake.
The door whispered shut behind him.
Riven didn’t move for a long moment. His heart pounded. His skin felt too tight.
He had a mission now. A name.
But even as he started toward the door, every step felt like he was still carrying Thane’s voice inside him. Still burning from it.