Thane flexed his fingers. Magic stirred at his skin, like a breath catching fire.
He looked at Riven, eyes dark and focused.
“Let’s find out.”
Chapter 63
But before he could move, Riven stepped in front of him. “Wait.”
Thane blinked. “What—”
Riven tugged his shirt up and over his head. It was already torn and bloodstained in places, more grime than fabric by this point. He hooked his fingers in the hem and tore a strip free with a sharp, practiced tug. The shirt fell back over his head as he moved in close again, the torn cloth held between his fingers.
“You’re not doing anything until I wrap that.” He reached for Thane’s arm, ignoring the flicker of surprise in Thane’s expression. “You’re not bleeding all over the place just to drop dead from sepsis after we make it out of here.”
Thane let him. Said nothing as Riven pressed the strip of fabric to the gash and wound it carefully around his forearm. The cloth darkened almost instantly, but Riven kept going, knotting it tight. His hands were steadier now. Gentle.
Thane looked down at him, lips slightly parted. Riven finished tying the cloth, then looked up—and froze.
There was something fragile in that moment, a thread stretched tight between them. Riven opened his mouth to speak, but Thane beat him to it.
He caught Riven’s wrist, just enough pressure to anchor, not to restrain. Then, in a single breathless second, he leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t soft. Riven didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. His mind went quiet the moment Thane’s mouth met his, and for one stunned heartbeat, he kissed him back like the world was on fire around them—which, if the trembling walls were any clue, it was.
Then Thane pulled back, just far enough to look into his eyes.
“Is it okay,” he asked, voice low and rough, “if I save our lives now?”
Riven blinked. His mouth was still parted. He could feel the ghost of the kiss still lingering there, like the echo of heat on skin. He managed a breathless nod.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”
Thane smiled—small and quick, but real. Then he turned toward the door and finally let the magic rise.
Thane stepped up to the door, the muscles in his back taut beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He drew his wounded arm back, ignoring the way the bandage immediately began to stain, and with a sharp exhale, he slammed his fist forward.
The impact rang out like a thunderclap.
Riven flinched, but then his Sight flared to life, drawn to the sudden ripple of energy breaking loose. The sigils etched into the door—once invisible—shimmered in his vision, cracks spiderwebbing through them as though made of glass. One by one, the binding glyphs shattered, their magic dispersing in a cascade of glowing fragments that hung for a second in the air before vanishing entirely.
The door creaked.
Then with a low, reluctant groan, it swung open.
They didn’t wait. Thane led the way, ducking through the threshold and into the hall beyond, his steps already quickening.The passage was dim and narrow, walled with old concrete slick with age. At the far end, a narrow staircase climbed up into the rest of the estate.
They reached the base of it together, and Thane stopped short.
Riven barely had time to halt before nearly colliding into him. “What is it?”
He didn’t need an answer.
The smell hit him immediately—burned wood and melted stone, acrid and chemical-sharp. His throat tightened against it, and something inside him curled with dread.
“Is it—” Riven swallowed. “Is the place on fire?”
Thane glanced back, face grim and lit faintly by the reddish glow now flickering down from the top of the stairs.
