He was handed a comm—thin, barely noticeable, fit snugly into his ear. Thane slid his own into place with practiced ease, then mounted the bike with a fluid, effortless grace that made Riven’s stomach flip in a way he would absolutely not name.
“You riding or walking?” Thane asked over his shoulder.
Riven scowled and swung one leg over, gripping the seat behind Thane. He kept his hands at his sides.
“Better hold on,” Thane said, revving the engine with a low growl. “I don’t slow down for pride.”
Riven cursed and grabbed the nearest thing to steady himself—Thane’s waist.
Riven ignored the way his body reacted, how the press of muscle under leather made his thoughts skid off the rails. Thane smelled like clove and ash.
The bike roared forward, and the city lights stretched into smears of gold and steel. They slipped through traffic like they owned the road, darting down side routes and narrow overpasses, moving toward the rusted veins of Atlantis where the polish wore off and the city started to bleed.
The Seam emerged like a wound.
Here, the buildings sagged. Neon signs flickered, some half-dead, some too bright. Smoke curled from chimneys that had never seen regulation. People moved like ghosts—fast, suspicious, low to the ground.
Thane slowed just enough to be deliberate, then pulled into a shadowed alley behind a strip of crumbling businesses. He killed the engine.
“We walk from here.”
Riven dismounted and tugged his coat tighter, his palms still tingling from Thane’s heat.
“Tell me you’re at least staying out of sight,” Riven muttered.
“I’ll be close,” Thane said. “You won’t see me, but I’ll see you.”
Riven resisted the urge to ask how and instead focused on the building ahead. The Ember Gate looked like a collapsed lung from the outside—red light leaking through the cracks, music throbbing from deep within. It was a place for deals and bad decisions, and Riven had grown up knowing how to make both.
His comm crackled softly.
“You remember the plan?” Thane asked in his ear.
“Get in. Find Lareth. Pretend I’m scum desperate enough to sell my soul for a cut of what they’re making.”
“You won’t have to pretend very hard.”
Riven bristled, then realized it wasn’t quite an insult. It sounded almost like recognition.
He swallowed the sting and stepped into the haze of light spilling from the entrance.
The doorman didn’t blink at him, just lifted the rope.
Inside, the world was smoke and synth bass. Bodies swayed on the dance floor, wrapped in velvet and shadow. Glamour spells sparked like fireflies. Riven moved through it all with ease, head down, eyes sharp.
But even with the pulsing lights and the smell of sweat and old magic, the weight of Thane’s presence stayed close—the echo of a hand still pressing against his chest.
And given his reputation, walking into this environment, part of him didn’t hate it.
Chapter 7
The Ember Gate was a living thing—breathing, pulsing, watching. Riven could feel it in the floorboards, in the tremble of bass through his boots, in the way every spell-tinged light pulsed like a heartbeat. This place thrived on secrets and desperation. He’d grown up around that energy. He knew how to wear it like a second skin.
He slid through the crowd, past a pair of elves swaying in shared intoxication, their fingers glowing faintly from the narcotic threads in their drinks. In the corner, a shadowed booth pulsed with glamour that whispered promises Riven didn’t care to hear.
“Keep your eyes open,” Thane’s voice murmured in his ear, cool and steady. “Lareth will be near the back. He favors control—he likes to sit above everyone else. Watch for the balcony.”
Riven didn’t respond. The tension coiled low in his spine was equal parts the job and the bastard whispering in his ear. Thane’s voice had settled over him like smoke, clinging in places Riven didn’t want to admit were warm for the contact.
