Chapter 21
The car was filled with Luca’s ragged breathing, each breath a sharp reminder of what happened.
Cassian drove with both hands white-knuckled on the wheel, eyes flicking constantly between the road and the rearview mirror.
Riven sat in the passenger seat, his stomach churning with more than just the fading alcohol.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d just wanted to escape, to feel normal for one fucking night, to forget the weight of the House’s mark on his skin.
And now Luca was slumped in the back seat, one arm pressed tight against the cauterized wound on his back, face drawn with pain but lips tight with stubborn silence.
Riven wanted to say something, to apologize, to fix it.
But what could he say that didn’t sound hollow?
He glanced sideways at Cassian. The twin’s jaw was clenched, his anger so contained it radiated in the contained space. Cassian had called ahead before they’d even pulled away from the alley. Riven had a sinking feeling about who he’d spoken to.
They pulled through the estate gates without a word.
House Virellien staff were waiting at the entrance to the main building—two medical aides with a stretcher, a steward with a datapad, and a pair of guards who stepped in as soon as the trunk popped open and the wounded mage was dragged from the back.
Riven caught a glimpse of his blood-slicked robes, of the Glint crest still shining at his collar.
“Take him to holding,” the steward ordered, voice clipped. “The Matriarch wants answers by morning.”
Luca made a move to follow the stretcher, but Cassian intercepted him, gripping his shoulder.
“Nope. You’re headed to the infirmary.”
“I’m fine—” Luca started, but it ended on a hiss as he shifted and the pain lanced through him again.
Cassian didn’t budge. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Riven walked beside them in silence as they moved through the hallways, deeper into the estate.
The infirmary was tucked behind the armory, a contrast to the brutalist aesthetic of the rest of the Virellien compound.
Its walls were pale gray, the floor a smooth, polished concrete.
It smelled faintly of antiseptic and crushed herbs.
Recessed light panels washed everything in a muted gold.
“Sit your ass down before you fall over,” came a dry voice from the far end.
The House doctor emerged from a side office, stripping gloves from their hands.
They were tall and whip-thin, with russet brown skin, a mass of tight curls pulled back into a scarf, and a pair of amber glasses perched on their nose.
The lab coat they wore was half-buttoned over dark clothes, and they moved with a kind of sharp efficiency that brooked no nonsense.
“Aeris,” Cassian greeted. “He caught a spell, lower back.”
“I can see that. Shirt off, lie down. Now.”
Luca winced but obeyed, climbing onto the nearest medbed with Riven’s help. He gave a strangled grunt when he rolled to his side, baring the cauterized wound. Aeris muttered something about “battle-happy idiots” and reached for their equipment tray.
“You’re a real ray of sunshine,” Luca grumbled.
“I’d be shinier if you stopped getting holes blown through you every other month.
” Aeris’s fingers were already working, probing the flesh around the wound, checking for deeper damage.
Their touch was surprisingly gentle despite the clipped tone.
“You’re lucky it burned clean. Another inch up and you’d be pissing blood. ”
The wound wasn’t just scorched—it looked angry, magic-burned, singed edges mottled with red and the faint shimmer of residual spellwork. Aeris murmured a diagnostic spell, light flickering under their palm.
Riven stood back, arms crossed, trying not to show how shaken he still was. The twins were always so composed. But here was Luca, injured, chastened, and being scolded by someone who clearly cared, even if it was buried under sarcasm and irritation.
He leaned toward Cassian and whispered, “Is he blushing?”
Cassian snorted. “It’s this whole thing.”
Riven blinked. “Wait, are they—?”
“It’s complicated. Shut up.”
Aeris turned without missing a beat. “I can hear you.”
Riven held up his hands. “Not judging. Just observing.”
“Observing gets you a reflex check. You want to be my next patient?”
Riven grinned in spite of himself. “Kinda like you, Doc.”
“I grow on people. Like mold.”
They turned back to Luca and began sealing the edges of the wound with a wand that emitted soft pulses of restorative magic. Riven watched the slow, careful work and the faint glow it left in its wake. His throat tightened again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was.
He should’ve stayed put. Shouldn’t have dragged them out into the city like that, even if they’d agreed. He’d thought it was harmless, that the danger was contained to House politics and sanctioned violence. He hadn’t counted on mages in the dark, on Luca bleeding in the backseat of a car.
And if the spell had hit him instead of Luca?
Would Cassian have carried his body back like that?
Would anyone have cared?
No. That wasn’t fair. He knew the twins cared in their own way—dry and subtle and buried under ten layers of training and duty, but still. The echo of that alley, the way Luca had gasped and folded, the stench of burning flesh—it was still in his throat.
“Don’t worry,” Aeris said, not unkindly, catching his expression. “He’ll be fine. Bruised and a little less cocky, but fine.”
Riven nodded, not trusting his voice.
Luca gave him a tired smirk from the bed. “Don’t look so tragic, Riven. I’ve had worse.”
Before Riven could respond, the door burst open.
The tension in the room snapped like a live wire.
Thane stood in the threshold, jaw tight, eyes blazing with something colder than fury. His black coat flared behind him. He looked like he hadn’t slept, or like maybe he didn’t need sleep, only rage.
His gaze zeroed in on Cassian like a dagger thrown.
“What,” Thane said, voice a low growl, “the fuck. Is wrong with you?”