Chapter 33 #3
“We handled that,” Torvin interrupted, tossing a small, rune-etched disc onto the map.
It landed on the lobby entrance with a solid clink.
“Static-Dampeners. We’ve been tuning them to the tower’s frequency for days.
We stick one on the drain grate and one on the service door.
It won’t break the ward, but it will bore a hole in it just big enough for us to slip through unnoticed. ”
“It buys us five minutes,” Karys added. “After that, the system recalibrates and realises there are intruders. That’s when you get loud.”
Riven nodded. “Five minutes is enough. While we hold the line and draw their fire, Team Hammer moves up.”
He looked at me, then at the twins.
“Selene, Torvin, Karys. You take the secondary lift shaft. The twins handle the physical security—locks, guards, cameras. Selene saves her strength.”
He fixed me with a hard stare.
“You do not engage, Selene. You do not fight until you are on that roof. You are the payload. You save every ounce of that Light for the device. If you burn out fighting a patrol on your way up, we lose.”
“I know,” I said, though the thought of going up without him—without the anchor—made my stomach turn. “I’m the bomb. They’re the delivery system.”
“And if Varessia doesn’t come down?” Dane asked, his voice tight. “If she stays on the roof with the machine?”
“She will come,” Riven said darkly. “I removed myself from her reach. I humiliated her. She won’t be able to resist the chance to finish me personally.”
I looked at him. He was making himself the bait. He was going to stand in the lobby with Dane and Goran and let the full weight of Highspire crash down on them, just to buy me a clear path.
“We leave at 0400,” Riven said, straightening up. “We hit them at shift change. Check your gear. It’s the last chance you’ll get.”
The Armoury was a small, cold room off the main atrium, smelling of whetstones and old oil. It felt less like a military supply room and more like a museum of violence.
Goran stood by the sturdy oak racks, laying out equipment with the solemnity of a priest preparing an altar.
There were no guns in the plan. For Dane and Goran, guns became useless dead weight the moment they shifted; a wolf relied on teeth, not triggers.
Riven viewed ballistics as a crude inefficiency compared to the precision of Shadow.
And frankly, against the magical wards waiting for us, bullets felt insignificant.
We relied on steel and the storm in our blood.
Goran handed Dane a heavy, telescoping baton made of matte-black steel.
“Weighted core,” Goran rumbled. “It will break a femur with a light swing. Don’t aim for the head unless you mean to end it.”
Dane weighed the baton in his hand, testing the balance. He gave it a sharp flick, expanding it with a snick-clack sound.
“Understood,” Dane said. He collapsed it and slid it into his belt loop.
He looked at me, his eyes tired. The grey tinge of the hospital was gone, but the lines around his eyes were deep.
“I hate this,” he said quietly.
I stopped checking the straps of my boots and straightened up. “The baton? I thought hitting things was your love language.”
“I hate that you are going up there without me.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the weapon rack.
“We’ve breached doors together for five years, Selene. I kick it, you clear it. That’s the deal. Sending you up to the roof while I play decoy downstairs… it feels wrong.”
“You need to be with them when Varessia’s main forces hit the atrium,” I said. “Riven and Goran will need your speed and muscle to hold the line.”
“I know the tactics,” he muttered. “Doesn’t mean I have to like them.”
He looked past me, to where Riven was inspecting a set of throwing knives at the other end of the room.
“You trust him,” Dane said. It wasn’t a question.
“I do.”
Dane sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s… capable. I’ll give him that. I saw him in the ring. He held back against me.”
“He did.”
“Right.” Dane’s jaw set. “Then I guess my job isn’t just to make noise. It’s to make sure he doesn’t get overwhelmed before you finish the job.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
“Keep an eye on him,” I whispered. “Please.”
I looked at Dane, letting the plea hang in the air between us. The truth sat heavy in my chest. I was still figuring out the depth of this connection between Riven and me, but I knew I needed him to walk out of that tower so I could find the answer.
Dane met my gaze. He studied my face, reading the desperation I refused to voice. He didn’t ask for an explanation; five years of partnership meant he understood the things I couldn’t say.
“I’ll watch his back,” Dane promised. “Even if he is a spooky bastard.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and walked out.
I turned back to the bench, reaching for a standard Registry knife—simple, serviceable.
A hand intercepted mine.
Riven reached for his belt, ignoring the standard blades on the table. He unclipped a leather sheath and used it to block my reach.
“Don’t take those,” he said, his voice low.
He drew the blade fully, the metal sliding free with a quiet hiss. It was forged from a dark, glass-like steel that drank the ambient light.
“Vaelor iron,” Riven said softly. “Cold-forged. It rejects magic. It severs the flow.”
He flipped the weapon, pressing the scuffed leather hilt into my palm.
“The machine is a hunger, Selene. If it takes hold of you… if it begins to drain you dry and you cannot break the hold…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. We both knew that total depletion meant death. He offered me a path to survival. He was giving me the means to escape the trap.
If the machine tries to hollow me out, I cut the link. I sever the magic to save my life.
I took it. The balance was perfect. The metal was a bite of winter against my palm.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
“Goran gave it to me,” Riven said. “The night he found me after the lab.”
He ran a thumb over the worn leather of the sheath, his expression distant for a split second, then he closed the distance. The space between us vanished.
He reached out, his fingers brushing my hip as he attached the sheath to my belt.
He looked up. We were inches apart.
I could see the flecks of silver dormant in his blue eyes. I could smell the rain and cedar scent of him.
“You keep saying ‘if’,” I whispered. “If the magic fails. If I get to the roof.”
“I am a strategist,” Riven murmured. “I plan for the catastrophe. That way, survival is not an accident; it is a calculation.”
“We’re going to win, Riven.”
He rested his hand on my waist, just for a second—a grounding weight.
“We leave the Cistern at 0400,” he said, his voice rough. “Get some rest, Selene. Real rest. Don’t spend the night staring at the ceiling.”
“And you?”
“I have things to finish.” He pulled his hand away, the loss of contact a physical chill. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He turned and walked out of the armoury, moving with that silent, predatory grace that still made my heart hammer—not out of fear anymore, but out of something much more dangerous.
I touched the hilt of the Vaelor iron. The metal seeped into my palm, a contrast to the phantom warmth of his hand on my waist. I slid the dagger into my belt and turned towards the door.
He had spent a long time convinced that he was a monster who belonged in the shadows. Tonight, I would prove him wrong.