Then, finally, they reached it. A narrow wooden door, almost hidden behind a collapsed shelf. Thane kicked the debris aside and shouldered into it once, twice—
Then froze.
Riven blinked through the smoke. “Why’d you stop—?”
But Thane didn’t answer. He stepped back, gaze fixed on the door as a creaking sound echoed from the other side.
The latch clicked.
And the door opened—not because of Thane’s strength, but because someone else had unlocked it from the far side.
A wave of smoke rushed out into the open air. Riven stumbled forward, dazed and coughing, one hand still caught in Thane’s. His boots struck scorched grass, brittle and black from the heat.
Cool night air hit him like a slap to the face.
They stumbled out into the open, gasping, bent with exhaustion—but they didn’t get far.
Riven barely had time to register that they were out, that they were alive—before he stopped dead.
A ring of men stood just beyond the edge of the firelight, their silhouettes stark against the night. They wore tactical combat uniforms, visors down, weapons raised. No insignias. These weren’t Hollow Hand street rats. They were trained. Disciplined. Ready.
A dozen rifles lifted in eerie unison, barrels catching the flicker of flames behind.
Thane stepped forward, shielding Riven with his body, clothes burned and torn, streaked with soot and blood. His expression was a mask of calm fury.
No one spoke; the night went still, and behind them, the house continued to burn.
Chapter 64
Thane shifted forward, the set of his shoulders tensing. Riven knew that posture like a heartbeat. Thane didn’t flinch from danger; he measured it. And if a single rifle twitched, if one soldier made the wrong move, Riven had no doubt Thane would turn the night into a bloodbath.
But before anything could spark, a voice cut cleanly through the firelit silence.
“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t slaughter my people, Thane. It took me three days and a shitload of paperwork to get authorization for field deployment.”
The soldiers didn’t move. But the speaker did—stepping out from behind the semicircle with all the ease of someone arriving late to dinner. Sorrell, unmistakably, in a House Glint field commander’s uniform. It fit him too well. Charcoal gray, crisply pressed, collar neatly folded, sleeves rolled to his forearms just enough to suggest he wasn’t afraid to get dirty. The badge gleamed at his chest, sharp and official, a stylized glintstone halo over a crossed branch and sword.
Riven stared, caught off guard. Sorrell looked competent. Worse—he looked deadly.
Even so, the man in the military uniform didn’tactlike he’d just walked out of a war briefing. He stood with his weight relaxed into one hip, as if they were still at some glitzy party, asif the house behind them wasn’t burning to its bones and the air didn’t taste like ash and magic.
Sorrell gave a vague flick of his hand. “Stand down, please. No one’s getting executed tonight.”
The rifles lowered in sync, smooth and precise.
One of them stepped forward slightly, visor lifted now, and Riven caught a flash of his face.
His breath snagged.
It was the same man. The one who’d helped him escape the estate—days ago, or longer now, he couldn’t tell. Same eyes, same steady jaw. Riven remembered the press of that vial into his palm, the quick push, the whispered “run.” At the time, he’d thought it was some act of loyalty to Virellien, since he’d claimed the House, but that had been a lie to gain his trust. He’d been Glint.
Riven turned a sharp look toward Sorrell, who was already watching him.
“That’s Orien,” Sorrell said, confirming it with a nod. “He was embedded for six months. Got wind of the attack ahead of time and sent word up the chain. We were able to mobilize because of him.”
He glanced toward Thane now. “Without him, you’d both be dead.”
Thane’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes tightened. “You could’ve said something. When we met.”
