Chapter 18 #2
“Because if she were significant,” she said, walking towards the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood, “I might have to take a closer look. And you know what happens when I take an interest in your pets.”
She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Don’t make me visit her, Riven. She looks… fragile.”
The door clicked shut.
Silence rushed back in, but the sensation remained.
My control fractured.
I slammed my hand down on the island. The marble cracked—a spiderweb fracture spreading out from my fist under the force of the blow. My breath left me in a shaky gasp. The shadows I had held back rose up, swirling violently around my legs, agitated, responding to the threat.
Fragile.
She had no idea. But she was close. Too close. If she went to the Old Quarter, if she started digging into Selene’s life…
My phone buzzed on the counter, vibrating against the stone. Selene’s name lit the screen.
I think I’ve found something. Need backup. Industrial Crescent.
A second message loaded, an address.
Old Blackwood Mill. North…
Then the screen glitched. The message froze, fragmented into pixels. The address disappeared, replaced by static.
The fragments were enough. I recognised the location. Old Blackwood Mill was a known Highspire disposal site. Selene had walked straight into the crosshairs.
A searing heat exploded in the scar above my heart—a jagged, primal pull that screamed a warning I couldn’t ignore.
Rational thought vanished, replaced by blind panic. I bypassed the lift and took the stairs three at a time, the corridor blurring into a grey smear. She was in a trap, and I was miles away.
I abandoned the car at the entrance to the Industrial Crescent. The air here tasted thin, metallic—magic gouged out of the surroundings.
A localised dead zone. Stronger than any I had encountered. Someone had been busy, and sloppy. The erasure of the Umbrakynn in the Lows had been clean; this was an open wound in the atmosphere.
I followed the disturbance past the skeletal giants of rust and cracked concrete.
Then I saw it. An old brick structure, its side entrance a gaping maw marked by a faded, chipped sign. Blackwood Mill.
The freight lift was external—a monstrous cage of rusted iron attached to the side of the building, descending into a concrete trench. It was already moving, slowly grinding its way down to a lower level, the machinery groaning under strain.
Metal screeched. A dull, sickening thud echoed from within the cage. Then, a choked breath—unmistakably hers.
My world narrowed to a pinpoint. Shadows coiled around me, dense and immediate, as I sprinted for the sinking cage. I vaulted the safety rail and dropped into the void, landing hard on the metal grating.
Inside, crumpled in the corner, was Selene. She was dazed, blood matting her hair. Standing over her was an Umbrakynn guard, his hand already reaching for her throat.
I slammed into him before he could close his grip.
The impact threw him backward into the iron mesh. The lift groaned, swinging violently on its cables.
I reached past him and drove my fist onto the emergency brake lever.
CLANG.
The lift juddered to a violent halt, the gears screaming in protest. We were suspended a quarter of the way down the shaft, aligned with a concrete service landing.
The guard rolled, pushing himself up with unnatural speed. Shadows erupted around me—a cold, violent response to the panic spiking in my blood. I recognised him immediately. One of Varessia’s dogs. Augmented. His strength was too explosive, his recovery too fast for a common soldier.
Grabbing his tactical vest, I drove him backward, heaving him through the open gate onto the landing. Fighting inside risked dropping the cage, so I vaulted out after him.
He scrambled up, snarling with chemically induced rage, and lunged in a blur. We clashed hard enough to rattle my teeth. Pressing the advantage, I drove a knee into his gut and slammed his skull against the concrete.
I heard a satisfying crack, a sound that would cripple a normal man.
But he wasn’t normal. The augmentation flooded his system, bypassing the pain. He twisted, drawing a knife I hadn’t seen.
A white-hot pain rammed into my side.
My vision tunnelled, dark tendrils creeping into the periphery. I stumbled backward, the shock of the invasion stealing my breath. He shifted his weight, ready to strike again, a grim smile twisting his lips.
Then movement flickered at the edge of my vision.
Selene.
She was dragging herself out of the lift. She clawed at the metal threshold, her body shaking with the effort to heave herself onto the landing. She was barely conscious, barely holding herself upright, but she was trying. Reaching for something she couldn’t even see.
Something inside me snapped. My shadows roared, rising through me. A primordial power boiled, pushing against the edges of the dead zone, seeking an outlet.
It found it.
I seized the guard by the throat and hauled him off the floor. His feet scrabbled against empty air.
He choked, eyes wide, struggling for breath.
With a sickening twist—a wet snap that echoed in the sudden stillness of the warehouse—I broke his neck.
His body went limp, a dead weight in my hands. The sound of his corpse hitting the ground was soft, almost insignificant compared to the violence that had just occurred.
Quiet descended. Only my ragged breathing fractured it.
I staggered back towards the lift, one hand pressed hard against the wound in my side.
Selene had collapsed halfway out of the cage, slumped against the concrete. I knelt. The effort nearly dropped me. My legs threatened to give way.
I touched her cheek. It was cool beneath my fingertips.
Her eyes fluttered open. A flash of brown, then a golden swirl that faded almost immediately. Recognition.
Relief hit me so hard it was dizzying.
She was alive. Bruised, shaken, but alive.
The adrenaline drained all at once. My knees buckled, dropping me beside her. I pressed my hand against the wound, but hot, sticky blood still seeped through my fingers.
Selene jolted, the haze in her eyes snapping into terrified focus. Her gaze locked onto the blood slicking my side. I was fading.
Panic cut straight through her concussed daze. She scrambled up, slipping on the wet metal before catching herself. Jaw set, she forced her battered body to obey, her attention narrowing to the damage.
The fear in her eyes had shifted, anchoring entirely on me.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” she choked out, reaching for me. “You’re losing too much blood.”
“No,” I rasped, gripping her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. “No hospitals. I can’t… be processed.”
“Riven, you’re dying!”
“Duskfall Manor, Seacliff Row,” I cut her off, the words wet and strained. “My house. It’s the only safe place. Do you understand?”
She stared at me, torn between panic and the sheer desperation in my voice. She looked at the blood, then back at my eyes, searching for sanity. She found it.
“Seacliff Row,” she repeated, her voice trembling but resolute. “Okay. Okay.”
I trusted her. Because I had no other choice. Because the strength in her gaze, even now, was enough to hold us both.
She forced herself upright, a low groan escaping her lips. Half-dragging, half-supporting me.
We stumbled away from the lift, my legs barely holding my weight.
The rain hit us as we cleared the warehouse doors, a shock to my fevered skin. My arm draped over her shoulder. Her arm wrapped around my waist, holding me upright with a strength she shouldn’t have had.
We moved, one stumbling step after another, melting through the rain towards my car.