Chapter 44
The truck finally groaned to a stop.
Riven tensed, every muscle coiled tight, crouched in the dark like a spring.
The stench of fuel and steel filled the space, thick enough to choke on.
He didn’t know how much time had passed—long enough for his thoughts to go numb and then sharp again, for the adrenaline to simmer under his skin until it felt like it might tear him apart.
This was it. His one shot. No rescue. No backup. Just him.
He adjusted his grip on the case tucked under his jacket, not because he planned to use the Soulglass inside—it was too risky—but because the weight of it grounded him.
Reminded him why he was here, what he needed to bring back to make this worth anything.
He repeated it like a mantra in his head: Get out. Get something. Bring it to Thane.
The latch outside clanked. Boots crunched gravel. Muffled voices.
Light slashed through the darkness as the cargo door was yanked up.
Riven moved.
He burst forward like a weapon unsheathed, slamming into the first man in his path with enough force to drive him backwards off the truck bed. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. The man let out a startled grunt, and Riven rolled off him fast, rising into a crouch with his fists up.
He barely had time to register the second man rushing at him before he struck. Riven ducked the first punch, slammed a knee into the guy’s stomach, then drove his head back against the steel siding with a satisfying crack. The man slumped.
Another attacker lunged in. Riven twisted, caught his arm, and used his own momentum to throw him sideways—into a fourth man who’d just stepped up with a gun drawn.
Chaos exploded around him—shouting, cursing, the scuff of boots and the thud of fists.
One of them clipped his jaw hard enough to send his vision reeling, but he caught his balance, drove an elbow into someone’s neck, and kept going.
It wasn’t clean, but it was fast and brutal. He didn’t have a choice.
But there were too many.
A fist slammed into his ribs. Another caught his shoulder and shoved him sideways.
He stumbled, then pitched forward under the weight of two bodies.
They dragged him down, pinning him. Someone wrenched his arm behind his back.
The cold press of a gun barrel found his temple.
And then came the crack of a shot, splitting the night.
Everyone stilled.
Riven looked up. Kieran stood a few paces away, arm outstretched, smoke curling from the barrel of the pistol he’d just fired into the air. He looked calm, utterly composed, his face as blank as fresh snow.
“I don’t care if you’re breathing when we hand you over,” Kieran said, voice light, almost bored. “My orders were to deliver you. Dead or alive makes no difference to me.”
Riven spat blood onto the gravel. “Then fucking shoot me.”
Kieran tilted his head slightly, almost like he was amused.
And then he fired again.
Pain tore through Riven’s thigh, raw and white-hot and blinding.
The world dropped out beneath him. His scream was guttural, involuntary, ripped from his chest as he dropped to the ground.
He clutched at his leg, breath coming in heaving gasps as fire licked up his nerves.
Blood soaked through his jeans in hot pulses, soaking the fabric and pooling around his fingers.
His vision swam. He curled onto his side, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might crack, willing himself not to pass out.
The agony had a shape and a sound. It roared.
“I told you,” Kieran said, stepping closer. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
Riven could barely hear him over the thudding of his own heart. His leg was useless. It felt detached, foreign. He couldn’t move it. Could barely breathe.
“Enough,” Lareth’s voice snapped from behind.
Kieran didn’t immediately respond. Just looked down at Riven like he was already dead.
“I said enough,” Lareth said again, more forcefully.
Finally, Kieran shrugged and lowered the gun. “He’ll live,” he said. “Unfortunately.”
Lareth crouched beside Riven, his expression hard to read. “You picked a bad time to play hero. But I suppose I should’ve expected that from one of Virellien’s little monsters.”
Riven’s mouth was dry. “If you think they’re coming for me, you’re even dumber than you look,” he rasped. “They don’t send rescue parties for broken tools.”
Lareth studied him for a moment, then stood. “We’ll see. Get him up. Patch him. I’m not explaining a corpse.”
Two of the crew moved forward. Riven tried to fight them, but the pain overwhelmed him. His limbs didn’t listen. The world was spinning. Still, he refused to cry out again, even when they hauled him upright and the damaged leg screamed like it was being torn off.
They dragged him across the gravel, guns pressed into his side as if he still posed a threat. Maybe he did. He was still alive, after all.