Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Riven
I stood guard over the end of the world.
The penthouse office of Quinn Tower was a clinical monument to ambition. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked the city that was about to be destroyed; scattered diamonds of light lay across Highspire below.
I hadn’t slept in thirty hours. The police were circling after the incident at the lab, and while the ACD worked to bury the fallout, Varessia kept me on a tight leash—a punishment for my disappearance yesterday.
Over my heart, the scorch mark from Selene’s light remained—a brand I had no intention of washing away.
She hated me. Good. She was safe, far from the rot in this room.
“The calibration on the Extractor is holding,” Varessia said.
She glanced towards the ceiling, her gaze tracking the line of the chrome spire bolted to the roof.
A steady, low throb vibrated through the building’s steel frame—a mechanical heartbeat waiting to tear the sky open.
She sat on the edge of Korenth’s desk, swinging a leg with dangerous exultance.
Korenth Vhail stood by the window, staring at the skyline as he swirled a glass of amber liquid.
“And the output?” he asked.
“Pure,” Varessia said, her voice sharpening with pride. “The old wolf had a surprising amount of fight in him. The canister is fully charged with his essence. It’s enough to jump-start the Rift once the alignment hits.”
I tightened my hands behind my back to stop them from shaking.
“We wait for the window, then,” Korenth said, taking a measured sip. “Seven days. The Eclipse of the Shattered Dawn.”
The eclipse. The name settled in my gut like lead.
I had caught fragments of it for years—whispers in closed meetings, redacted lines in the few files they allowed me to see.
I was the enforcer; the blueprints had always been kept from me.
That they were speaking of it openly now meant the timeline had moved past the point of secrecy.
They were done hiding because they believed the game was already over.
“Ensure the Silverite core is shielded,” Korenth added, looking directly at me. “If the containment fails during the draw, the feedback will incinerate everything within these walls before the Rift even opens. I want the sub-basement secured.”
One week. The deadline sat in my gut like lead. Engaging Varessia directly remained a suicidal gamble; the machine was the only target I could actually hit.
I had seven days to unearth the reality of this “Eclipse” and find the pressure point in their construction.
I lacked the technical mind to understand their Silverite geometry, but I understood the physics of wreckage.
If I forced the full, volatile weight of my shadows into the core at the moment of peak draw, the resulting feedback should be enough to jam the mechanism from the inside out.
It would be a one-way trip. But it was a price I was willing to pay to buy Selene a future.
“You’re quiet, Riven,” Varessia noted, her eyes sliding to me. “Thinking about your stray?”
“I’m thinking about security,” I lied. My voice sounded like a rusted grate. “If the police bypass the ACD and start digging into Rowan's death at the lab—“
“Let them,” Korenth said, dismissive. “By the time they file the paperwork, the laws of this city won’t apply to us.”
The intercom on the desk buzzed. A harsh, jarring sound in the quiet room.
Korenth pressed the button. “What?”
“Sir,” the concierge’s voice crackled, nervous and thin. “There are… police here. In the lobby.”
Varessia laughed. It was a bright, cutting sound. “Right on cue.”
“Send them away,” Korenth said, bored. “Tell them to contact legal.”
“I tried, sir. But… they have a warrant. And they have a tactical team blocking the exits.”
I stiffened.
Tactical team? Darian Morrow was their pet, a man kept firmly under Korenth’s heel. Usually, Morrow would be the one at the door, cap in hand, ready to bury the problem before it reached the lifts. He would never have authorised a tactical unit to swarm this building.
Unless it wasn’t ACD.
“Who is leading them?” I asked, stepping forward.
Silence stretched on the line. Then, ”Detective Rowan, sir. She says she’s coming up.”
My heart stopped.
Selene.
“Let her up,” Varessia said, smiling like a cat who just spotted a canary. “I haven’t had fun in days.”
I shifted my weight, preparing to summon the shadows. If Selene walked through those doors with magic blazing, Varessia would kill her in seconds. I had to be faster. I had to hurt her to save her. Again.
The lift chimed.
The doors slid open.
I braced for fire. Gold light and screaming rage. Instead, she held up her badge.
Selene stepped into the room. She wore a heavy coat over a woollen jumper, her hair tied back in a severe knot. Her face was pale, eyes rimmed with red, but her expression was composed.
Behind her, four tactical officers fanned out, weapons pointed at the floor. A controlled entry.
Varessia slid off the desk, her smile faltering just a fraction. “Detective Rowan. You look… terrible.”
Selene ignored her. She scanned the office—the desk, the view, Korenth standing by the window. Finally, her gaze landed on me.
I waited for the hatred. Nothing. Her eyes were flat. Dead. She looked at me with total indifference.
It hurt more than the magic she’d slammed into my chest yesterday.
Reaching into her coat, she withdrew a folded paper.
“Varessia Quinn,” she said, her voice steady. “I have a warrant for your arrest.”
Varessia laughed. “For what, darling? Hurt feelings?”
“Corporate Manslaughter,” Selene said. “Gross Negligence resulting in the death of an employee.”
Korenth turned from the window, frowning. “What?”
“Miller Cross,” Selene said. “Private security contractor. Employed by Aegis Logistics, a subsidiary of Quinn Enterprises. Found dead on company property with unauthorised, lethal medical augmentations in his system.”
She stepped forward, slapping the warrant onto the glass desk.
“You hired him. You insured him. And you killed him.”
Varessia stared at the paper, baffled. She had braced for a magical strike, only to be blindsided by a liability lawsuit.
“This is absurd,” Korenth said. “Call Morrow. Have him remove this rubbish.”
“ACD has no jurisdiction here,” Selene cut in sharply. “This is a labour violation involving a civilian contract. It’s a police matter.”
Selene signalled the uniformed officers. “Cuff her.”
Two officers stepped forward. Varessia stiffened, her eyes flashing violet.
“Varessia,” Korenth snapped.
She froze.
“Go with them,” Korenth said. He looked at Selene with a new, cold interest. “My lawyers will have you out before the ink dries on the booking sheet. Don’t make a scene.”
Varessia relaxed. She smiled at Selene—a shark baring its teeth. “Fine. I could use a change of scenery.”
She held out her wrists, and the officer cuffed her.
I watched her in silence, stunned by the sheer audacity of the manoeuvre. She had marched straight into Highspire, stood up to the most dangerous woman in the city, and brought her to her knees with paperwork.
Selene turned to me.
Her hand went to her belt, pulling out a second pair of cuffs.
“And you,” she said, her voice hard.
She marched up to me, grabbed my wrist to spin me around, and shoved me hard against the wall.
“Riven Ashborne,” she recited, her voice a flat, clinical monotone. “You are under arrest as an accessory to manslaughter and conspiracy to conceal evidence.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool plaster of the wall. Accessory. The word was a perfect fit. I was an accessory to every rot in this city—to Eamon’s death and the catastrophe that followed. If she wanted me in a cell, I wouldn’t offer a single word of protest.
“I’m taking him in for separate questioning,” she told the sergeant. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my skull. “I want no risk of them colluding during transport.”
I glanced over my shoulder at her. Her eyes were dark brown. Hard. Unforgiving.
“Move,” she growled, yanking me away from the wall.
Korenth watched us go without stopping her. He thought I was being dragged off to prison, just another loose end.
Selene marched me to the lift, her grip on my arm bruising. She shoved me inside and hit the button for the lobby.
As the doors closed, cutting off Korenth’s view, she leaned in close.
“You have the right to remain silent,” she whispered.
Her cop mask didn’t slip. She was furious.
“But if you say one word before we get in the car,” she hissed, “I will shoot you myself.”
The lift descended in a tense quiet, as I watched the floor numbers drop. 40. 30. 20.
Selene stood before me, her back a rigid line of defiance. I stayed silent, refusing to test the air between us. If she wanted to squeeze that trigger, she had earned the right.
The doors slid open at the lobby.
Controlled, uniformed chaos greeted us. The tactical unit had secured the perimeter, pinning the staff back behind lines of tape. Near the main doors, two officers flanked Varessia. Even then, she maintained the bearing of royalty being escorted to a carriage.
As we stepped out, she turned, her luminous eyes locking onto Selene. She slowed her stride, forcing the officers to pause as she ended up shoulder-to-shoulder with the detective.
“I went to the Old Quarter hunting a supernova,” Varessia purred, her voice carrying over the din. “My sensors picked up a surge so violent I thought a new star had been born.”
Selene stopped, her grip tightening on my arm. Varessia leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of Selene’s ear.
“He broke so easily,” she whispered, the words too low for the sergeant to catch, but loud enough to break the woman standing next to me. “I tore him apart looking for the source of that power… but he was just a dying candle.”
She pulled back, pitying smile touching her lips.
“I didn’t realise until after,” she finished, her voice barely a breath. “I was breaking the wrong toy.”
The colour drained from Selene’s face. The hit landed. She realised it—Eamon died because Varessia had come looking for her magic.
Before Selene could react, a voice cracked like a whip.
“Rowan!”
Vesper Shade approached, flanked by two ACD officers.
Her silver eyes locked on mine with a grim recognition from my time consulting for the Council.
She’d arrived too fast for a routine response.
The ACD must have a silent trigger on the dispatch system—a digital shadow that alerted them the second any warrant touched Quinn’s name.
Near the revolving doors, Varessia laughed as the police bundled her towards a transport, her departure leaving us exposed.
“Hand him over,” Vesper snapped, blocking our path to the exit. She gestured to her team. “Secure the prisoner. He goes in the containment van with Quinn.”
Selene stood her ground. She shifted with clinical precision, interposing herself between me and Vesper’s reach. Her hand sat low, hovering near her holster, her spine a rigid line of professional defiance.
“Negative,” Selene said, her voice a level, professional monotone. “He’s flagged for isolation.”
Vesper’s brow furrowed. “Come again?”
“Code 77,” Selene said, the words slipping out with iron authority. “Magical Contamination. Look at his hands, Shade.”
She gripped my wrist, forcing my hand into the light. The stress of the encounter was dragging my shadows to the surface; they curled around my fingers in a dark, erratic tremor.
“He was exposed to an unshielded extraction core for twenty minutes,” Selene continued. “The energy is volatile. If you lock him in a shielded van with another active Umbrakynn, the resonance will turn that transport into a pressure cooker.”
She leaned closer, her tone dropping.
“Do you really want to explain to Morrow why his star witness was incinerated in transit?”
Vesper hesitated, her gaze shifting between me and the faint smoke rising from my skin. She understood the theory of resonance and the danger it posed, but the suspicion remained. She tapped her earpiece.
“Dispatch, verify status on prisoner Ashborne. I’m looking at a Code 77.”
The air between us thinned. A second passed. Two. Then, a violent burst of static tore through the channel, loud enough to bleed out of her earpiece.
“WARNING,” a synthesised voice cut through the noise. “Bio-magical hazard detected in Sector 4. Isolate immediately. Repeat: Isolate immediately.”
Vesper recoiled from the feedback, ripping the earpiece out. The risk had become too high for her to gamble on.
“Fine,” Vesper spat, stepping aside. “Transport him yourself. But I want him booked at Central in twenty minutes. If he isn’t in a cell by noon, I’m coming for you, Rowan.”
“He’ll be there,” Selene promised. She grabbed my arm. “Move.”
We moved through the blockade at a brisk, irritated pace—the walk of officers dealing with a hazardous complication. We cleared the glass doors and the cold rain hit my face. Instead of the police vans, Selene steered me sharply towards a No Parking zone where a dark saloon sat idling.
“Get in,” she hissed, opening the rear door.
I slid inside. The interior smelled of lemon bleach and old leather. Dane Lennox sat in the driver’s seat, his face pale, his grip tight on the wheel.
“Code 77?” Dane asked as Selene dived in beside me. “Since when is ‘Magical Contamination’ a real code?”
“Since Orin overrode the dispatch server thirty seconds ago,” Selene said, slamming the door. “Drive. Before Vesper realises that extraction radiation doesn’t exist.”
Dane hit the accelerator. The car lurched away from the kerb, tyres protesting as the flashing lights of Quinn Tower receded into the rain. I looked at her. She had manipulated the entire board to get me out instead of handing me over.
“Why?” The question sat raw in my throat.
Selene turned. The blankness had vanished, replaced by a fierce, focused intensity.
“You tried to die to buy me time,” she said. “But I don’t need time. I need answers.”