Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Selene
The afternoon turned into a blur after I left Eamon’s.
Back in my flat, the quiet was absolute, a weight building behind my ears.
I paced, unable to settle, acutely aware of the bag sitting on the floorboards and the books inside it.
They carried a burden far greater than paper and ink; they held the tangible proof of the lies I had lived with for my whole life.
I took the books out of my bag and carried them into the kitchen.
I sat at the counter, dragging the cloth-wrapped volume towards me, and opened The Tides Beyond the Veil.
These pages supposedly held the history Eamon had finally voiced: the truth of the Aetherkind.
I scanned the text, hunting for facts buried within my mother’s prose, but I found only fables.
Princes born of starlight, wars fought with shadows.
Nothing distinguished the reality of my bloodline from ordinary bedtime stories.
I stared at the ink, unable to decipher which of these myths were actual memories.
My phone buzzed against the wood, severing my focus.
Riven: Change of plans. I am downstairs.
Just that. No greeting. No explanation. Typical. I stared at the screen for a moment before typing back.
Me: Be there in five.
I glanced back at the counter. The truth would wait.
I took a few minutes to grab my things—perhaps a few minutes too many.
When I stepped out of the building at last, he was leaning against his car.
Rain-dark clouds pooled behind him, a bruise on the sky.
He straightened when he saw me, his expression tightening into the familiar, rigid distance he used to keep the world away.
I climbed into the passenger seat without his invitation. He got in beside me, and a moment later, we were pulling away from the kerb.
“We were supposed to meet at the quarry at six,” I said, keeping my voice level.
Riven kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. “Plans change, Selene.”
As I settled further into the seat, my phone buzzed again in my pocket. I reached for it, glancing at the screen, and felt a knot in my chest loosen.
Dane.
His eyes moved to me, then back to the road.
I swiped to accept. “Hey. You alright?”
Dane’s voice came through warm but tired, threaded with that familiar steadiness that anchored me. “Yeah. Just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine,” I said—and it came out softer than intended. “How about you?”
“Still stuck here,” Dane said with a weary sigh. “They’re keeping me for one more week. Spine needs stabilising. After that… probably a month at home before they’ll let me do anything useful.”
My stomach sank. “A month?”
“Doctor’s orders,” he said lightly. “Apparently, I don’t bounce back quite as fast as I thought.”
A small, sad laugh escaped me. “Dane…”
He heard it. Of course he did. “Hey,” he said gently. “It’s alright. I’ll be fine. Just slow for a bit.”
Beside me, Riven slipped into a controlled stillness, listening to the shift in my tone.
Dane continued, his voice dropping a fraction. “Just didn’t want you worrying. That’s all.”
My throat tightened. “Too late.”
“Alright,” Dane said softly. “I’ll let you go. Don’t want to interrupt your day.”
“You’re not,” I said quickly.
Riven’s jaw gave a minute flex—a tiny slip of the mask before he smoothed it away.
“Take care of yourself, Selene,” Dane murmured. “And get some rest. For once.”
“I’ll try,” I whispered.
He gave a tired huff of a laugh. “Liar.”
The call ended. I slipped my phone into my pocket, staring out at the rain-streaked windscreen.
Riven drove in silence. Composed. Too composed.
Finally, he spoke, his tone low and neutral. “You and Dane… you’re close.”
The words landed as a casual observation, but a distinct spike of curiosity prickled against my skin, tasting slightly sour. He was measuring the space Dane occupied in my life, testing the strength of that history.
I glanced at his rigid profile, deciding to test the ice. “Sounding a bit jealous there.”
“Jealousy is a useless metric,” he replied instantly, his eyes never leaving the road. “I am simply cataloguing your liabilities.”
I offered a dry half-smile, letting him have his lie. “We’ve been friends a long time.”
A pause. His fingers tightened fractionally on the wheel, gone as soon as the movement appeared.
“I see,” he said quietly.
His tactical deflection was textbook, yet that microscopic flinch betrayed him.
He wore his clinical detachment like armour, projecting the image of a perfectly numb Highspire operative.
But the weapon possessed a pulse. Beneath the jargon and the ice, a very real, guarded humanity was simmering.
A ruthless consultant was an obstacle I could navigate; a man burying actual feelings under layers of duty was a complication I was entirely unequipped to handle.
The quarry was colder today, the clouds stacked low and dark, threatening rain. The air tasted metallic, braced for a storm.
Riven moved first and circled around to stand in front of me. “Ready?”
I rolled my shoulders back. “Always.”
He gave a faint snort and gestured for me to follow him to the centre of the open space.
His movements were relaxed today. Something in him had eased around me, even if he refused to admit it.
“Condense it,” he ordered, circling me with an assessment that made my skin prickle. “Don’t let it bleed. Give me a single point of light.”
I raised my palm, forcing the wild heat in my blood into a tight, glowing sphere hovering just above my skin.
It took immense concentration to keep the edges focused.
He stepped in, his hand brushing my wrist to correct my arm angle and lock the energy flow.
The physical contact shattered my focus.
The sphere collapsed, snapping into a tiny spark that bit into the air before vanishing.
He paused, studying the space separating us. The current had shifted.
“You’re holding too much tension here,” he murmured, placing two fingers at the base of my ribs.
I flinched. From heat. From awareness.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re not.”
He stepped closer. Much closer. His presence wrapped around me like heat in winter, unsettling and steadying at the same time.
“Again,” he said, voice low. “Reach for it.”
I closed my eyes. I reached.
But I couldn’t focus on the magic. I could only focus on him. On the heat of his body inches from mine. On the way his scent—rain and ozone—filled my lungs.
My magic answered him instead of me. It reached out, a tendril of golden light seeking the shadows clinging to his skin.
He hitched a breath.
I opened my eyes. He was staring at me, his pupils blown wide, the silver swirls in his irises spinning fast.
He held his ground. Then, slowly, he moved closer.
That’s when the sky finally broke open.
Rain hit in heavy drops, drenching us in seconds. It soaked through my clothes instantly, freezing enough to make me gasp.
Riven swore under his breath, swiping wet hair from his eyes. “Of course.”
A startled laugh escaped me. The timing was absurd, and the suffocating tension of the last hour snapped. His lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile, though a flicker of unease crossed his features.
“Training is over,” he stated, immediately burying the slip.
“No kidding,” I panted, wiping rain from my face.
We sprinted for the car, boots skidding across the wet stone. He yanked the passenger door open for me, water streaming from his jaw, dark hair plastered to his forehead.
“You’re shivering,” he muttered, his gaze catching on the tremor in my shoulders.
I offered a breathless laugh, unable to suppress a grin. “You’re soaked.”
For a moment, we stood there, dripping, staring, breath turning to mist in the chill. Something pulsed in the enclosed space—deep and magnetic. I looked away first.
He cleared his throat, moved around the car, and started the engine. The heater blasted warm air that instantly fogged the windows.
We sat in a charged quiet, thick with things better left unsaid.
When he pulled up outside my building, neither of us moved. The rain drummed on the roof. My internal cadence stumbled.
And then I heard myself say, “Do you… want to come up? Coffee. Or something.”
His eyes flicked to mine, surprise cutting clean through his composure.
“Coffee,” he repeated, voice low.
Something inside me shifted. Hard.
I stepped out first, rain hitting my skin again. I didn’t look back to see if he followed.
I could feel that he did.
I kicked off my wet boots and dropped my keys into the bowl by the door. The familiar clatter sounded too loud in the sudden stillness of the flat.
“Stay there,” I muttered, shivering as the damp clothes clung to my skin. “You’re dripping all over my floor.”
I ducked into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and returned to the hall. Riven hadn’t moved, a dark statue in the dim light, rainwater pattering off him in a steady, measured drip.
“Here.” I tossed the towel.
He caught it effortlessly. He dragged the cloth through his hair once, then shrugged off his soaked coat. It hit the floor with a wet thud.
Water dripped from his jaw, tracking over the collar of his shirt. The hallway’s draught sharpened everything—the hush, the proximity, the sudden awareness of how little space stood between us.
His shirt was plastered to his skin—light grey turned translucent by the rain—clinging to the hard lines of muscle across his chest. And there, beneath the drenched fabric, ink spread over his skin: dark, winding patterns curling from his collarbone, wrapping around his ribs, and disappearing down his left arm.
I’d never seen it before. I’d never been close enough. My breath caught in my throat.
“I’ll… put the kettle on,” I managed, forcing myself to turn away before I got caught staring.
I retreated to the kitchen, filling the kettle and flicking the switch. My hands shook as I opened the cupboard, hunting for the coffee jar. Empty.